


It's a Love Story

by Cruel_Irony



Series: It's a Love Story, Baby Just Say Yes [1]
Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I am not a doctor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining, Romance, Self-Worth Issues, Sex Work, Slow Burn, Swearing, Tony Hutchinson's A+ Parenting, actual communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-01 11:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 36,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruel_Irony/pseuds/Cruel_Irony
Summary: Harry fights his way awake - waking up to go to school has never been fun - feeling groggy and fuzzy. Somehow it seems harder to force his eyes open than it did yesterday. It’s not like the beds in his dorm have been changed; and Harry has an essay to hand in today - he has to prove he’s an asset to the school and could deserve a scholarship, since his fees haven’t been paid. He’s only sixteen, this is to much pressure. But he has to get up anyway.Amnesia Jarry fic - not edited, all tags are precautionary, mistakes are my own and all rights to characters etc. belong to Hollyoaks.Please enjoy!!





	1. Chapter 1

Harry fights his way awake - waking up to go to school has never been fun - feeling groggy and fuzzy. Somehow it seems harder to force his eyes open than it did yesterday. It’s not like the beds in his dorm have been changed; and Harry has an essay to hand in today - he has to prove he’s an asset to the school and could deserve a scholarship, since his fees haven’t been paid. He’s only sixteen, this is to much pressure. But he has to get up anyway.

He groans and tries to roll over but he can’t. He’s being tugged back by wires and tubes. The stench of disinfectant unique to hospitals wrinkles his nose, and it registers that the sheets on his bed are too thin and scratchy to belong to his boarding school. A tube by his nose tickles, and the back of his hand itches. There’s something on his head, nut he can’t raise his hand to check. God, he feel so tired. Where the fuck is he? Is he in hospital? Why is he in hospital?

His eyes finally open and the blurriness is gone. The sterile blankness of the room confirms his suspicions, but Harry can’t remember getting hurt. There’s nothing to indicate how he got here, or what happened to him. His name is on the board above his head, with doctor’s notes he couldn’t even attempt to decode. What’s wrong with him? What happened? He can’t remember! The ECG machine beside his bed begins to beep faster.

Summoned by the near constant beep of the machines, an unfamiliar doctor rushes in and immediately starts to calm him down.

“Harry. It’s alright. You’re in hospital, you’re in safe hands. It’s okay.”

Harry lets her words rush over him, as she tries to coax his breathing into a more regular pattern. Following wordlessly, Harry lets himself be pushed back against the pillows. The doctor checks his charts, and the writing Harry can’t understand.

“It’s nice to see you’re awake, Harry. We’ve been worried you might be the latest ‘storm casualty’. I’m going to order a few tests now that you’re awake, but you seem to be healing very well.” She smiles warmly at him, but it falls when she sees the dumb look that is surely on Harry’s face. “Harry, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, but… Where am I? Who are you?”

“It’s Misbah, Harry. Doctor Maalik? You’re in the hospital. I understand you must be disorientated, you have been unconscious for nearly a week. That tree really hit you hard.” She tries to joke, to crack a smile; Harry can’t do the same.

“What tree? I don’t understand how I got here. I don’t - I don’t remember.”

‘It’s okay, Harry. Try to control your breathing. In… and out. Okay. In, and out. That’s good, very good.”

“What happened? How did I get here?” Harry asks.

“Well, there was a storm in the middle of your wedding. There was a lot of structural damage done to the village. Your fiancee dialled 999, he said you’d gone out alone in the rain. When the paramedics found you, you were half-buried under a tree. Don’t worry, the rest of your family is fine - only a couple of broken bones, a few scratches here and there. It’s totally normal to have some memory loss after a blow like the one you suffered, but it’s most likely concussion, and it should go away very soon.”

“No. No, it’s not that. That can’t right. I was getting married? That’s insane,” Harry lets out a humourless chuckle, “I’m only sixteen, I’m too young for any of that. I should be at school. I’ve got stuff to do at school - they were gonna kick me out, I’ve got to call them. I don’t know how I really got here, but I can’t just sit around. I’m not dropping out of school.” Harry speaks firmly - he had to stay in control.

Doctor Maalik stays quiet, though Harry can see the cogs turning in her brain. She clears her throat and asks hesitantly, “Harry… what year is it?”

“That’s an odd question. The year of our Lord two thousand and fourteen.” Harry jokes, really not liking the way the doctor is reacting. The silence is oppressive, and feels like a child, confidently declaring an incorrect answer and now he’s about to be laughed out fo the room. He clenches his fists in the cheap hospital sheets.

She shakes her head. The ECG machine makes itself painfully known again.

“Don’t.” He pleads.

“I’m sorry, Harry. But it’s twenty eighteen, now.”

Harry chokes back a sob, pushing back into the pillows. How could he have missed four years of his life - four years in which he obviously did stuff; so why can’t he fucking remember anything!

“Harry, it’s going to be okay, I—”

“How is it fucking okay? I’ve lost four years. Last thing I remember was crying myself to sleep at boarding school because they just told me my family hadn’t paid the fees. And now you’re telling me that not only am I apparently out of the closet, but I’m getting married. And who knows what else has happened to me! I don’t remember anything! I don’t understand! I- I-” the next sentence is masked by Harry’s violent sobs in to his pillow.

He turns his back to the doctor who thankfully takes the hint and gets up to go. She looks back at the door, and hopes he can hear her, “We’ll do whatever we can to help you, Harry. You have a lot of family and friends here, you’re not alone.” The door closes behind her, and the room is deafeningly silent.

Harry did hear her. But all he can think of is the complete lack of ‘Get Well Soon’ cards and flowers and balloons in his room. The chairs have been pushed to the far edges of the room, and clearly no one has sat in them. No one has bothered to take away the plastic bag full of what Harry assumes are his dirty clothes - they still sit gathering dust on the floor. Harry is pretty sure Doctor Maalik was lying to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor Misbah Maalik feels her heart pound in her chest, and fights to stop wringing her hands. As she approaches the hospital room, she pauses and does something she would never admit to if asked. She spies on her patients.

Through the small window in the door, Misbah observes the Hutchinson family in their natural environment - mother and father huddle around three small children on the bed, Tegan resting in the chair; Ste Hay is even there, a graffitied cast on his arm and a butterfly bandage on his forehead, and his two children, too. It is a heart-warming sight - or it would be, if Misbah doesn’t have to ruin their moment.

Misbah knocks on the door, and enters with a smile. “Sorry to interrupt. How are you feeling Dee Dee?”

The young girl in question, looking rather peaky from underneath all the blankets on her bed, gives a wide gap-toothed grin and takes her thumb away from her mouth for a moment, “I’m very well, thank you.” Diane praises her daughter for her manners, then looks up at Misbah, the smile she bestowed on her daughter already falling.

“Is something wrong? Have Dee Dee’s test results come back.”

“Um, no. Actually this isn’t about Dee Dee.”

“It’s about Harry, isn’s it?” Tony’s tone shocks Misbah. The man lifts Ant from his lap and ushers Misbah out of the room. “If this is another update that Harry’s still unconscious then you can leave. We don’t need to be told three times a day that he’s still lying in a hospital room.”

“Mr Hutchinson - Tony - I understand that splitting your attention between your comatose son and your seriously ill five-year-old daughter is difficult, but I thought you would appreciate me updating you - so as to ease your concern.” Misbah is honestly surprised that she managed to keep her tone level. “But this isn’t a regular update, Harry has woken up.”

“Well, that’s great. When will he be able to leave the hospital?”

“Not for a while, actually. There were unforeseen consequences of the trauma Harry suffered.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Harry has amnesia. We’ve run the appropriate tests, and Farrah is talking to him now to assess his mental state and how best we can help him. But I think it’s for the best that he remain in hospital until we know more.”

Tony paces the corridor, saying nothing. Misbah starts to feel like a spare part, an intruder on his personal moment, when he suddenly spins around and pins her with a question:

“What exactly has he forgotten?”

Misbah is all too eager to answer him, “Well, from what we can understand, the last thing Harry remembers is from twenty fourteen. He doesn’t remember any of the last four years. We’re lucky it’s not worse, that he knows anything about himself and his past at all.”

“So he’s forgotten everything he put the family through - everything with Amy! And James! He’s the lucky one indeed.”

Misbah doesn’t know what to say. She’s so used to simply spewing the prerecorded program of comforting words, or offering one of the numerous tissues she keeps in her pocket. In all her time as a doctor, and as an observant person in general, she has never seen a reaction quite like Tony’s.

“You’re son is confused and lost in his room! He doesn’t know where he is, or how he got here. He needs his family by his side - he needs his dad! Be grateful he still knows who you are.”

“My daughter - my five-year old daughter - is in there fighting for her life. She has encephalitis! She having chemotherapy. She was just brought out of a coma. She’s just found out her mum isn’t her mum and her brother isn’t her brother. I’m the only constant in her life - she needs me there.”

“Is one child really more important than another?”

Tony purses his lips and folds his arms.

“We might be able to move the rooms around - so you can be closer to Harry. Maybe you’ll have more chances to visit him.”

“We are not moving Dee Dee - she’s too fragile!”

“Are you not listening? You’re son has lost four years of his life - he’s fragile!”

“You have no right to talk to me about my family and my decisions. You are a doctor. So be a doctor and treat my daughter, and my son.”

Misbah takes a deep breath. Several deep breathes. And a few more for good luck. “I will run the tests on Harry, and myself and the other doctors will come up with a way to help him through this. If you want to be involved, I will continue to keep you in the loop. If not, then Harry is an adult, and we don’t need to involve you.”

“Sounds good.” Tony storms back into Dee Dee’s room, and shakes his head at the question from Diane. Misbah observes for a few moments more, her mind straying to Harry, as melancholy as it makes her.

She makes her way through the maze of hospital rooms, too the ICU ward, where Harry is sat up in bed, playing with his fingers. His eyes dart around - his mind working over time thinking of the memories he’s lost. Steeling herself, the doctor pushes through the door and busies herself with the charts - the results of Harry’s latest tests.

“Any news, Doctor Maalik?”

“I’ve told you, Harry. You can call me Misbah.”

“Any news, Misbah?”

A beat. “How was your session with Farrah?”

“Fine. Did you go see my dad? Is he gonna visit?”

“I’m glad the session went well.” Harry raises an eyebrow, and Misbah resigns herself. “Well, I’m not sure if you remember, or if Farrah told you, but you’re little sister - Dee Dee - she’s very ill. Understandably, your father is scared to leave her alone in case…”

“I understand.”

Misbah waits for more, but it doesn’t come. She looks at her patient, and suddenly sees how young he is. With all he’s gone through, it’s shocking to think he’s barely twenty. He looks half a child sitting cross-legged under a thin blue blanket.

“Is there anyone you’d like me to call?” 

“I don’t know if they’re still around, or if they’d want to see me. It has been four years, after all.”

“I noticed your mother’s number is on file - I can give her a ring?”

Harry nods. It hardens the old doctor’s heart, and she determines to force Mrs Thompson to care about her son, whether she likes it or not.


	3. Chapter 3

James wakes up in a mood most foul - if he were a cartoon, thunder clouds would have gathered by the tonne above his head. He takes his coffee black and on the cheap side - a recent change from his usual exotic blend - and he eats his breakfast despite burning it - absentmindedness and an already dark mood will do that. He even snaps at his mother despite knowing that she means well.

“There’s no need for that tone, James.” She scolds, her body language telling him just how done she is with him. But, deep down, they both know that she can never stay mad at him for long. He’s her first-born son, her baby.

He just wishes she would stop babying him so much. So he had to watch the man he loves almost marry someone else; got bashed around by a ferocious storm; and found out that he has a long-lost son, who he treated badly in the few times they’ve previously talked. So what? He doesn’t need his mother to wrap him in bubble-wrap, or handle him with kid gloves. She can’t blame him for his tantrums.

“I’m just trying to help you, James. You won’t go to the hospital.”

“Because they’re dealing with everyone else who got a paper cut during the storm - they don’t need me giving them more paperwork to do. Besides, I’ve got more important things to do.”

James starts to pull one of his more casual outfits from the wardrobe - still a cut above what the other villagers wear, but James likes knowing he looks good in everything he wears. Marnie follows him, and furrows her brow.

“What could be more important than your recovery?” She protests, grabbing the clothes from James’ hands and putting them back in the wardrobe.

Rolling his eyes, James take the clothes back out and lay them on the bed. “I’m hardly injured, mother.”

“I still don’t think you’re ready to be going out - after everything you’ve been through.”

Oh, no. This is it. The patented Marnie Nightingale tears, complete with that unique wail she has. James could count down to it exactly - from the moment she sense things not going her way. He used to be so desperate to keep her happy - the only true family he had - that he’d do anything once she started crying. His argument would be abandoned, and he was putty in her hands. But James is a grown up now - has been for a long time - and since it no longer works on his siblings, there’s no reason it should work on him.

“Don’t be theatrical, mother. I’m going sky-diving or rock-climbing. I’m going to talk to Romeo - you know, my son. An apology is long overdue, and maybe I can still be a father to him.”

Marnie huffs, and all traces of tears are gone, “You really want to be a father to that boy? He’s a- a chav! An amateur criminal, a conman! And the way he dresses! Ugh.”

James shakes his head, “Are you going to leave the room? I need to change.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Her turning her back is likely the best he’s going to get, so James proceeds to strip and change. “James…”

“He’s my son. Fifty percent of him comes from me. Which means twenty-five percent of him comes from you. Don’t judge him before you know him - for all we know, he could be a violin prodigy or some maths genius.”

Marnie scoffs. “And is your… son, the only reason you are ignoring my advice?” She sneers.

“Yes.” James replies firmly. “You don’t have to worry about me running off into the sunset with Hutchinson Junior. That ship sailed.”

“Oh, James…” Marnie pouts and hugs James from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. James shrugs her off.

“I’ll be back for dinner, mother.”

James hastily gathers his wallet and phone and keys - casting curious glance in the mirror, assuring himself that the past week and beyond have left no physical evidence. He still looks every inch the put together lawyer with a heart of stone.

The slam of the front door behind him and the crisp morning air are the wake up he needs. The mental fog dissipates, and each breath brings back the old James. Crying, moping and depressed James is gone now. His heart has been broken - but it’s time to move on now.

Walking through the village, attempting to hop, skip and jump over the debris, James thinks it fair to say the village looks like a war zone - but it’s an improvement on what it used to be. The McQueens at least have stopped their God awful karaoke and tacky themed nights in order to clean up the Dog. And those crappy wedding decorations - honestly, who chooses orange - have been blown a thousand miles away by the wind, and James never has to think of that day ever again.

If only his heart and mind would actually cooperate.


	4. Chapter 4

“He’s James Nightingale’s son! How is that not something you tell your friends? It just proves he’s been lying to us for months! And not just about this, blackmail and breaking and entering. I don’t want him in our home, Prince.”

Every word that comes out of Lily’s mouth is dagger to Romeo’s heart; he turns his face away from the arguing couple to continue packing his meagre possessions in to a duffel bag. For some reason it’s taking longer than he expected. He just needs to get out before Lily break she heart completely.

“But, Lil, he’s our friend. If you found out James Nightingale was your dad, you’d be hesitant to tell people - I mean, it’s James nightingale, innit?” Prince, while technically on Romeo’s side, was not making him feel better. Just rub it in that his dad is hated by pretty much everyone in the village, and by extension so is he.

“I don’t have time to be arguing about this, Prince. I have to get back to the hospital.”

“Why? You just got back from a shift. Hope they’re paying you for this overtime?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just have to be there for my Auntie Diane - Dee Dee’s getting better, but with Harry still there and everything else that seems to be piling up - she needs all the support she can get.”

Romeo zips his bag with a flourish and turns to face the only friends he has here - the ones who gave him a place to stay; food in his belly; things to laugh, smile and cry about - who are fighting because of him.

“Look, guys. I don’t want you to fight over this. I’ll get out your hair, and you can have the apartment to yourselves again. Prince can get his wardrobe space back, and you can use the table to study without worrying about where I’m sitting.” It’s hard to put a positive spin on moving out of the one place that has felt like home since, well, ever. Something flickers in Lily’s eyes, but she blinks it away. “You’ve really kind to me, and I won’t forget it. Honestly, if either of you need anything from me, I’ll be more than happy to help.”

“Oi, mate.” Prince reaches for Romeo, and tugs him into a manly hug, totally not crying, “I’m sure your dad will be able to set you up. Nightingale’s rich, in’ ‘e.”

Romeo shakes his head, avoiding Lily’s gaze as much as possible. He grabs his bag and coat and moves towards the door. “Doubt he wants anything to do with me - I’m hardly the kind of son he’d be proud of, am I?”

“Don’t say that.” Lily almost sound like she cares. There must be something in his ear.

Romeo gives them on last dashing smile, and pull open the door. And sees his dad stood awkwardly on the doormat, his hand raised to knock.

“Is this a bad time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small chapter this time - I swear the next one will be a lot longer. As always, comments and opinions are very welcome - please, enjoy!!


	5. Chapter 5

It feels like all eyes in the coffee shop are on the father-son duo, watching them stand awkwardly in line and sit just as awkwardly at a table near the back. James chides himself for not picking somewhere no one knows them. Here everyone is waiting to relay the gossip to their families, to watch the latest drama unfold before their very eyes and enjoy James’ embarrassment. Why is he putting Romeo through this? The boy seems just as uncomfortable, looking anywhere but at James.

James can see all the ways they are different at a glance. Despite being genetically related, they’re the first things he sees. The way he dresses for one - his mother wasn’t wrong - is so drastically different to how he dressed when he was that age, partly due to the time, but he could never imagine having the confidence to pull it off.

And the confidence was another thing. This might be the most painful situation either of them have been in, but he still looks so natural. Leant back in his chair, arm slung over the back, winking at the occasional glance from a girl. James would never have dared. Not even now. And not just because everyone in the village hates his guts.

“So?”

Romeo break the silence and James clears his throat. Nothing is said for a few more seconds.

“No one ever really tells you how to go about these things. Not exactly the most common conversation you have.”

“Not really.”

“I should probably apologised for what I’ve said to you before. Obviously I didn’t know you were my son, but that’s no excuse. Not the best first impression and I’ll understand if you want this to the last conversation we have.”

“What? No, are you insane?”

James raises an eyebrow, mouth open in shock. The ice breaks.

“Sorry. That was rude.” Romeo flushes, “I just mean that I’m kind of also to blame. I’ve known who you were since I came - you’re the reason I came to the village - but I never said anything. I could’ve corrected you the first time, or the second, or the third - but I didn’t.”

“Not to be rude, but, why?”

“I guess I was scared. Sixteen years without a dad, it’s daunting to think you might have a chance to have one - but there’s also a chance of rejection.”

James understands, and fortifies himself with a sip of coffee, “I’m scared, too.”

Romeo lets out a huff of disbelief.

“No, honest. I’ve never entertained the idea of being a father. Unlike you, I had no idea of our relationship or that it was even remotely possible. And given the example of fatherhood I had growing up, I didn’t think I’d be a one - still don’t.”

“You’re scared you’ll be like your dad.” The simplicity of the statement doesn’t do justice to what it means to James. He’s never gotten close to any of his past sexual partners enough to think about adopted children or having a surrogate with them, but recently it’s dawning on him that while he would love to have a family with the right person, there a chance - a rather significant chance - that he would screw them up. Be too aggressive or controlling. Ignore their feelings or needs, be neglectful. There’s so much pressure on parents and he doubts he’d live up to it. At least Romeo is old enough to be his own person - he won’t be shaped by James’ mistakes as much as if he’d grown up with him.

“Who knows what you’d be like if I’d raised you.” His joke falls short.

Romeo, thankfully, changes track. “I don’t understand how you didn’t know. You must remember having sex with my mum.”

James screws his eyes shut against the flashes of memory. He nods, and puts on a brave face for his son. “Only woman I’ve ever slept with. But the story isn’t a nice one. Maybe I’ll tell you when you’re older and I’m much drunker.” At his son’s questioning look, he adds, “it involves my father, which I’m sure tells you enough for now.”

Romeo nods, his face as sombre as James’. “i know what my mum does for a living. I can guess. I’m sorry.”

“As much as I appreciate the chance to meet you, and have a proper relationship with you now, I’m not sure if I’d have been able to take knowing I had a son all those years ago. It’s probably not what you wanted to hear. You probably spent many nights wishing you had a dad like everyone else.”

Romeo nods, “I won’t deny it - I did. I’d get so jealous of everyone else playing in the park with their dads, getting Christmas and birthday presents. I hated you at times - well, the idea of you - and others I just wanted a dad so badly. But I get why you weren’t around. And yeah, things were tricky growing up with just mum and Juliet—”

“Juliet?” James’ eyes widen comically - there’s another kid to worry about?

“My sister. Don’t worry, she’s not my twin. Different dads. She is a handful, believe me. I used to think mum was a superhero looking after us both, given we often didn’t have much. But the money helped. We could pay the rent, even if it was overdue, and I could stay at school a bit longer than I thought I would. Stopped mum turning tricks all the time, gave me a chance to pull my weight. But we still had tough times, that’s why I tried so hard in school to make mum proud and give me a better chance at making it in life. Also why I learnt some basic laws - so I could get out of being arrested. Better to bend the law rather than break it. And, well, here I am.” 

There’s silence as James takes in the details of his son’s life. It’s not everything, but they don’t have time for that right now - if James lets himself hope, they have the rest of their lives to build up their father-son bond. But there’s one thing that’s bugging him.

“What money?”

“Ah, shit!”

“Do I have to reprimand you for your language? Is that what father’s do?”

“Sorry. I just, probably, wasn’t meant to tell you that.”

“Why not? What money was it Romeo? Are you in trouble? Debt? Drugs?”

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Romeo looks down, biting his lip, admitting, “Gran.”

“What?”

“That’s what mum would always call her. I recognised her the second I saw her in the village. Your mum.”

James’ coffee mug cracks in his grip, “Are you telling me… that my mother was giving yours money? Why?” His tone is dangerous, barely holding himself together.

“Why does it matter? I shouldn’t have said anything - I’m sorry. Can we just forget I said it. Let’s move on.”

“Romeo,” James warns. His son swallows hard, and looks his father in the eyes. “It matters because she betrayed me and I need to know exactly in what way. She either knew about you, and the money was to provide for her grandson, or keep it away from me; or she didn’t know about you and it was hush money, or she was on my father’s side and was just her salary.”

James wishes he could take back the words - Romeo looks about to be sick - but he needs to know. He thought he could trust his mother. If, after all this time, she was going behind his back, then he doesn’t know what he’ll do. At least he didn’t yell at the boy.

“Mum was blackmailing her I think. About telling you about me, about going to the authorities about what happened. Gra— Marnie gave her the money to keep her quiet. It was more than once, too.”

“Thank you for telling, Romeo.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I need time to process everything.”

He says nothing for a while, and Romeo doesn’t offer any conversation starters. People have started looking at them again, out of the corners of their eyes. Why does everyone in this village have to be so damn intrusive?

“Romeo?” The boy hums and looks up, “I do know one thing. I’m not going to let this come in the way of being a real father to you. If you’ll have me? I know that things will be rocky to start with, and we need to have some serious catch-ups - because we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I am also very aware of what you might ahem heard about me - beyond the experiences we’ve had together - I have done some very questionable things and people in this village will not hesitate to throw it in your face.”

“Yeah, I know. Lily didn’t want me staying with her and Prince because of the whole Hutchinson’s versus Nightingale thing.”

“I don’t come across well in that story, but it is a very interesting one.”

“Bed-time story?” Romeo laughs, and James joins in.

“I swear I will be a father you can be proud of.”

“I know.”

Looking at Romeo now, James easily sees past all their differences, to see the ways their shared genetics come across - despite the disparity in their upbringings. Romeo clearly has James’ intelligence, and the proclivity for bending the law to his will. They have the same eyes, and build - and James can’t help but see a flicker of himself in Romeo’s smirk. There is no doubt in James’ mind that were they to do a DNA test, it would come back positive.

“Well, I think my fatherly duties start by offering you a place to stay. If you want it?”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly. Do you need to sort things out, or can you move in today? Or is that a bit too forward?”

“No, it’s fine. I left my bag at Prince and Lily’s, but I’ll come by later.”

“Perfect.”

“Oh, and, by the way, dad? I wouldn’t want a straight-laced, law abiding father anyway - too boring.”


	6. Chapter 6

Nothing has changed in Harry’s hospital room, except for the massive stack of leaflets and magazines Farrah had given him to alleviate his boredom and help him understand his new found amnesia.

It doesn’t help. He can’t focus on the words or what they’re trying to tell him, and his attention drifts constantly to the empty chairs around his bed. Misbah moved them because she thought it might encourage his dad to pop in when he passed the corridor. But as far as Harry can tell, his dad actively avoids passing his room - or has forgotten where it is.

Harry gives up on reading them, and stares at the walls. Maybe if he gets bored enough his memories will come back.

“Knock, knock.”

Harry almost give himself whiplash spinning to face the door - to see his mum standing at the door with what appears to be the entire contents of her flat stuffed into one bag. Tessie Thompson hasn’t changed much - maybe a few more wrinkles than before, but Harry guesses it has been four years. Still the same kick-ass, intelligent and confident woman who raised him.

He leaps from his bed and crushes her in a hug, which she eagerly reciprocates. She strokes the back of his head just the way she used to, pulling him as close as physically possible to her body. “Oh, my baby, my baby boy. Harry, it’s okay. Mum’s here now.”

The tears come in torrents, waves - much like the storm Misbah told him about - and quickly soak through his mum’s coat. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t wipe them away. If feels like so long since he’d had a hug from his mum.

“I missed you, mummy.”

“I missed you, too, Harry.” He breathes her in, the smell of washing powder and perfume, and clings to her like a barnacle to the bottom of a ship. “Might have to let go, sweetie, so I can sit on the bed with you.” Harry shakes his head like a petulant child but pulls away enough to get comfortable on the bed, his mother by his side.

She take this hand, squeezing reassuringly, “It’s going to be okay, Harry. I spoke to the doctor on the phone and she told me how they’re going to help. I’ll be by your side through it all, okay. It’s going to be fine.”

“No, mum, it’s not. I’m… I’m scared.”

Tessie wraps her son in her arms; Harry feels her tears through the thin hospital gown. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. The doctors won’t tell me anything in case it compromises my memories coming back on their own. I’m lost.”

“I know, sweetie. How about I tell you a few things - about what I’ve been doing?” Harry nods, and curls up by his mother’s side.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Going to sleep at school. The teachers told me my fees hadn’t been paid and I might be expelled. I was crying, thinking of ways to be able to stay.” He pauses, “Did I get expelled?”

“Yes. Your dad couldn’t pay, and you went to live with him. Here, in Hollyoaks, with your dad, his wife, Diane, their two children, Ant and Dee Dee.”

“Dee Dee’s ill. I barely remember hearing their names, I think.”

“That’s good, Harry. You started going to school here - from what you told me, everything was good. You dated someone, and came out as gay.”

Harry ducks his head away - he still can’t quite believe he had the confidence to do that, and that everyone knows. What will people think?

“Harry, it’s fine. I just wish you’d been able to tell me. I never want you to think that you can’t come to me with anything. Honestly, I may be your mother, but I’ve been around, I can help with any problems, trust me.”

“Alright, alright. You don’t need to scar me with stories of your teen escapades. How did I come out?”

“I think that comes under the banned memories - I wasn’t there, so I don’t want to tell you something wrong, or biased. But I know it was a surprise to everyone. You’re a surprisingly good actor, Harry Thompson.”

“So, what else?”

“Well, you’ve been dating a man for nearly three years now. You’ve had your ups and downs, but you were going to get married last week. And if not for the storm, you’d have a different last name.”

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me the name of my fiancee?”

“No.”

Harry is quiet for a moment, fighting to find something in his mother’s story familiar. But all he’s left with are more questions.

“Misbah - Doctor Maalik - said there were casualties and fatalities from the storm. Was my fiancee one of them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh.”

“Harry, I am so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. As a mother, I would gladly take on your problems a thousand fold, if I could spare you one ounce of pain. I wish this hadn’t happened to you, but I know that this is a chance for me to be a better mother.”

Harry scoffs, “What are you talking about? You’re the best mum ever.”

“You’re sweet. But I’m not. These past four years, I haven’t been there for you. I regret not standing by your side through it all, but I will now. I’ll be the best damn mum you’ve ever seen. And I’ll prove it.”

She moves to get up, and Harry clings to her, pouting exaggeratedly when she moves to pick up her bags from by the door. He feels giddy, so happy his heart might burst. He hasn’t realised just how much he’s missed his mum until now. Even at boarding school, he’d wake up and wish he was at home watching TV with her.

Tessie brings the bag over to the bed, rummaging around in it until she brings out a stack of dog-eared and well read novels - Harry’s favourites. Jane Eyre, Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Pride and Prejudice. His eyes tear up as he looks at them. How could he have left them at his mum’s rather than bring them to the village?

“You have the books?”

“Of course, I do, Harry. I have plenty more where these came from - I know how you like to devour them in one sitting. But don’t think that me giving you books is an excuse for me not to be here. Because I brought—”

“Trivial Pursuit!” Harry makes a grab for it, not believing that it’s the exact game from their home. He looks up, suddenly nervous, “Can we play now?”

Tessie looks at him curiously, “No, I brought it for decoration - of course, we can play! That’s what games are for.”

Harry pulls the table closer to them, and Tessie gets started setting up the board. He can’t believe his luck, his mum is finally here! All that moping was worth it, even if she will have to leave once visiting hours are over. He just wished she could have visited soo—

“Harry?” His mum reaches out to stroke his cheek, “You in there, sweetie?”

“Why didn’t you come visit before? Why weren’t you here when I was unconscious?” His fingers play absently with the frayed edge of the blanket - the frayed edge he had created with all his worrying since waking up.

“I didn’t know what had happened to you. I didn’t know you were in hospital, or that you’d been hurt at all. The doctors told your dad - since he’s in the village - and he forgot to tell me. We’ve been distant these past years - which is something I am desperate to fix. Okay, this will never happen again.”

“I know. But… Weren’t you at my wedding?”

“No, Harry, I wasn’t.”

Harry shakes his head, crushing his hands together. “No, that’s- that’s. I would invite you to my wedding - you’re my mum. I’d want you to walk me down the aisle, or at least stand by me as someone else walked down. You’re my mum! What was I thinking?”

“Harry, you did invite me. But I didn’t go.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I didn’t think you were happy. And I couldn’t bear to watch you sign away your happy future.”

“But you’d still let me do it. So long as you didn’t have to watch.”

“I tried to talk to you about it - I knew you were hiding something. But you’re stubborn, and we weren’t as close as we were. Four years is a long time.”

“Very long, it seems.”

“I think that’s enough seriousness for today. We’ve got a game to play, and I am going to win.”

“No way. I’m in hospital remember - I’m playing the ‘hospitalised’ card. I’m winning.”

“We’ll see.”


	7. Chapter 7

The lock screen of James’ phone never fails to bring a smile to his face, and he knows that won’t change. Just a week ago, his life was falling apart. The man he thought was the love of his life was marrying someone else, his father was hanging around the village like a spectre and his work life was stagnating due to his time in prison.

But now, his father was off somewhere licking his wounds from the storm, he hadn’t seen Harry since the wedding so the scars have time to heal; and now he had a son! This was new and exciting - something that made life worth living. This relationship with Romeo could open so many new doors in his life.

That’s why, as he lets himself into his flat and looks down at the selfie his son forced him to take with him, a stupidly wide grin erupts on James’ face. This boy, so similar to him but also uniquely Romeo, has accepted him for who he is. He wants his father, despite the skeletons in his closet. James isn’t going to waste this opportunity.

“That took longer than I expected. So, what was he like? This son of yours.”

The smile falls from James’ face as he remembers what it is he came here to do. Why he isn’t helping his son pack and getting to know him better. His mother.

“Well, James?”

He scoffs, “I didn’t think your question warranted an answer. Given you already know what he’s like.” He wants to know how she’ll dig herself out of this hole. Or if she even knows she’s in one.

“From what I’ve seen around the village - he’s like a young Ste Hay. Not deserving of you, darling.” She was pouring herself some tea, in that elegant and regal manner James remembers trying to emulate when he was younger. Until his father stopped it in its tracks. “Tea, darling?”

“No, thank you.”

“You know, I’m glad you’re seeing it my way. That boy is nothing but trouble. Weren’t you telling me about how he tried to rip off Ste’s lunchbox or whatever? I tell you, in five years time he’ll be rotting behind bars, where he’s supposed to be.”

James’s nails break the skin of his palms, but he manages to keep his tone level, “There’s more to some people than meets the eye. They may look like they deserve to rot in jail, but they could be the most intelligent, kind, hard-working and honest person in the world. Or it could the other way around.”

“Not with him. Trust me, James, he is nothing but trouble.” She steps closer, gripping his hands close to her chest, “He and his family will bring you nothing but pain and misery. Promise me you won’t get involved with him.”

James looks his mother deep in her eyes, witnesses her conviction pour out. She believes every word that is coming from her mouth, and she feels no guilt over asking him to abandon his son - again!

“You seem to know a lot about a boy you never knew existed before last week.”

Marnie blinks, and wipes under her eyes. She busies herself with the teapot. A sure sign of guilt - and she knows it. “Call it a mother’s intuition.”

“No, I think it’s more than that. I think you know more about my son and his family because you’ve met them before.”

Marnie finally looks up at him, giving a deep sigh. “Well having met his mother once I think I know enough about him to guess how he’ll have been raised. I just didn’t think it prudent to bring it up to you.”

“Stop lying to me, mother. I know you met her more than once.”

“How dare you suggest I had anything to do with what your father did! I was heartbroken when you told me! Don’t you dare!”

James hides his wince at the mention of Mac, takes a steadying breath and prepares to cut his own heart out, “I want you out of my house. Romeo is moving in, and I will not have you near him.”

“What?” Marnie rushes to his side, but he avoids both her touch and her gaze. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”

“You know what you’ve done, and now, so do I. You paid Romeo’s mother to keep quiet. You hid my own son’s existence from me. And when he arrived in the village you did nothing. You have betrayed me, mother. And I can’t forgive you for that.”

“No, no, James, please.” She begs, “I did it for you!”

James holds up a hand, the fury in his eyes stopping her pleading in its tracks. “I understand not telling me when I was sixteen. I was too young to be a father regardless of how it happened. But when I was older? There were so many times you could have told me. All those times I wondered if I’d have children one day - you could have told me I already a son. When I questioned if I’d ever get the chance to be just like everyone else and have a normal life - you said nothing!”

“I didn’t want to bring all back again! I wanted you to forget about it. And sometimes, yes, I wanted to tell you. I felt so terrible about keeping it from you, every time that bitch demanded more money. But it had been years, and it just became hard—“

“Harder and and harder to tell me the truth. I don’t care, mother. I had a right to know, and you shouldn’t have cared whether I would disown you or hate you. Because you should’ve wanted me to have a chance with my son.”

“James… You don’t have to do this. You can still have both me and your son in your life. It isn’t a choice between the two of us.”

“I need time and space to build a proper relationship with my son, and I won’t be able to do that if I have to look at you every morning and remember how you lied to me. Pack your things, and leave.”

“Where will I go?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Just get out.”

Marnie admits that arguing is futile, and she storms past her son to collect her things. A part of his mind does wonder where she will go, and his heart aches to think of how much she hates him right now. But a louder voice screams at him that she’s the reason Romeo grew up without a father. She can go stay with the McQueens - she’s friends with Sally and Myra, isn’t she? He’s the one with the power and he is in the right. He is calling the shots now, not her. He is a parent now, after all, and his son has to come first.

Marnie storms back in, her things stuffed messily into several overnight bags and a suitcase, and pouts at him with her chin high in the air. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She slams the door on her way out but James can’t look back. He has a future with his long-lost son to think about now. A very good future, he hopes.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry slides the bookmark into place as the argument outside his hospital room gets louder. It’s already hard to concentrate without them, now it’s impossible. He can’t tell who it is - a family or doctors. But since there’s nothing else for him to do in his room while his mum is out getting coffee, and they are stopping him from reading, Harry thinks it’s only natural for him to listen to the people so rudely interrupting him.

He slips out of bed. The people are just outside his door, and he doesn’t want to alert them. Thankfully, he’s no longer plugged in to any machines, and his mother brought him some changes of clothes so he’s no longer freezing his arse off in a hospital gown.

Placing his ear to the door, and finding an angle at which he can see the back of one of the people, Harry tries to keep his breathing quiet.

“Tony! He’s your son!”

Harry flinches back.

That’s his mum. And his dad - the dad he hasn’t seen since he was fifteen, at least in his memory. And they’re arguing over him. Unless it’s about Ant, who is merely the idea of a brother to Harry. But why would his mother can about him.

Does he want to hear this? Yes. yes, he does. Harry puts his ear back, biting his lip as he resumes their conversation.

“You don’t know what I’m going through!” His father spits, thrusting a finger in Tessie’s face. She doesn’t back down, in fact, Harry is proud of his mum as she steps forward, pushing Tony back, and lifts her chin.

“Oh, I know. Little Dee Dee is having treatment, and I understand how heartbreaking it must be to think your child might forget who you are, or that they might not survive. Well, guess what, Tony, Harry is going through the exact same thing.”

“Dee Dee has encephalitis - her brain is dying.”

“I know. But she has to sleep at some point, and you couldn’t take five minutes just to sit with your son - he’s only a few rooms down the corridor! He is your family - or have you forgotten that?”

“I have my priorities. And you’re no saint, either! My family have been through hell these past few years - and where have you been? You have no right to talk to me like this, not when you’re just as bad.”

“I know I’m not a model parent, and I can never apologise to Harry enough about the distance I put between us. But at least I admit my faults, unlike you. You preach your goodness and claim to be the perfect father and husband. But you are a liar, and a bad man. You put one child below the rest, and even spend more time with someone unrelated to you. And I doubt it’s a recent development. You disgust me, Tony.”

The two adults stand in a furious silence - smoke pouring from their ears, faces red, breathing hard. Harry can see how stressed his dad is, and how defeated he looks. He can’t even come up with a good retort or a lie to make himself feel better.

A doctor comes up behind him, and tries to pull Tony to the side. Tessie grabs his arm before he can go, pulling him around to face her.

“At least tell me if there’s anyone in this village who’d care enough to visit him.”

Harry’s heart starts to pound. If he were still connected to the heart monitor it would most certainly have given up his position. This was what he’d been desperate to know. He’d tried asking some of the nurses, but they just gave him pitying looks. The answer may not be what he wants, and the ache in his stomach might just kill him with its strength. But he has to know.

“I thought James might have already been to visit, since they seem to love each other so much.” The venom in his father’s voice is alarming, but at least it eases the tension and fear in Harry’s mind.

Tessie nods and turns back to the room, done with arguing with her ex. Tony gratefully follows the doctor - presumably to his sick daughter.

Harry scampers back to the bed just in time, and his mother immediately pulls him into a warm and crushing hug.

“Mum? Are you okay?”

“I’m never letting you go, you hear me? You’re my baby boy, and I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you.”

She grips him even tighter, and kisses his cheek, “I’m going make everything right again. I promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

Romeo knocks on the door and rocks back and forth on his heels as he waits for the door to his dad’s —no, it’s his now, too — to their home. His sparse belongings sit at his feet, and it doesn’t quite feel as monumental as having stacks and stacks of boxes and furniture. But this is a milestone all of its own.

He can’t believe this is actually happening. For so long he has dreamt of what kind of man his father is. Would he be kind, or cruel? Would he look anything like him? What did he do for a living? Was he a good man? The things his mother used to tell him growing up scared him - that he was a deadbeat who wanted nothing to do with him.

But the reality barely resembles her lies. His dad is everything he didn’t know he wanted in a father. Most important being, his father won’t judge him for what he’s done. He won’t reprimand him or ground him for bending the law and mouthing off to police officers, because he’s done just the same both in and out of his job as a lawyer.

And how useful will it be to have a lawyer as a father? The things he could learn from him! Romeo bets his dad is the smartest man in the world.

The door opens, and his dad’s nervous smile matches his own. He seems to drink in the sight of him, as if he’d disappear if he blinks. Romeo knows he’s doing the exact same.

“Come on in. Remind me to get you your own set of keys.” James move out of the way to let him in, “But for now, the spare is—”

“Under the mat. I know.”

James’ brow furrows momentarily, until he remembers. “Ah, the breaking and entering. Find anything interesting while you were here?”

Romeo is thrown off - why is he not angry at him? He didn’t know him and broke into his home? How is he not shouting? He knows he’s his son now, but back then?

“I’m not angry,” his dad reads his mind, “You didn’t do any harm, and I understand you probably wanted to get to know me. Especially after what I said to you that day.”

“I did break a photo frame.”

“Easily replaced.”

“You have a lot of pictures of yourself around. I didn’t think you were that narcissistic.”

James cracks a smile, and the tension in Romeo’s shoulders falls away. “My narcissism is proportional. It’s more my mother’s decorating choice.”

“I saw your bookshelf, too.”

“Anything you’ve read?”

“Thomas Hardy?”

“Good choice.”

“Yeah. It was funny, you know? I’d been talking to Prince and quoted him - he thought I was on about the actor. Finding it here was like…” He can’t put into words how important it was to find a common interest between them. For so long he’d been accustomed to socialising with people who barely understood a word he said when he was in his element. At leats his dad will be able to hold a proper conversation with him.

James nods, “I know the feeling. Not everyone in my family has the same appreciation for the classics. It’s good for family to share some interests, at least we’ll have something to talk about if we disagree on everything else. I hope you haven’t been too bored staying at Prince McQueen’s place?”

“Nah, it’s alright. We got on in other ways. And Lily knows the classics.” There must have been something in his voice, because suddenly his dad is looking at him funny. All knowing and solemn.

“Um… Where should I put my stuff?”

James emerges from his mood like a swimmer gasping for air, “Oh, right. I’ll show you to your room. Is this really all you have?”

“Yeah, I pack light.” James accepts it without a word.

James goes to clear some space in the bathroom for Romeo’s toiletries, leaving him to put his clothes in the wardrobe and drawers. It’s depressing how little stuff he has. He’s done in a few minutes. When he find the bathroom James is gone, presumably to make something to drink. His toothbrush is in the holder, and his things are mixed in with his dad’s, but it still feels too soon to go out to his dad. Like he should take more time.

Looking around the rest of the apartment, he imagines what life would be like. Reading in the living room; finally learning to cook something that hasn’t come straight out of the freezer; arguing over who deleted a recording on the TV.

He finds his dad’s room, takes a curious look in, and looks at the absolute mess it’s in. Clearly his dad has been having a rough week, if the closed and dusty curtains, tissues hidden in the folds of the duvet, and pile of washing in the corner are anything to go by. The room is a pig sty, and it does not match the suave and sophisticated man who took him out for coffee earlier.

“It’s not usually a mess. Promise.”

Romeo spins around, caught, but relaxes when he sees his dad’s casual stance, leaning against the door. He hadn’t realised he’d walked so far into the room.

“It’s okay to snoop. I’d do it too.”

Now with permission, Romeo looks around the room again, and his eyes immediately lock on a small photo frame on the bedside. The only place that seems clean. It’s tiny, barely noticeable, and the picture within is tricky to make out. Romeo picks it up, and hears his dad inhale sharply from across the room.

It’s a picture of Harry Thompson, smiling and natural, clearly he had no idea he was being photographed. It’s a beautiful picture, Romeo must admit.

“Did Harry like to read?”

“He did. He’s read almost all the books in the flat.” Even with his back to him and the words said with such convincing nonchalance, Romeo can hear the pain.

“You really care about him. And he cares about you.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Romeo puts the frame back exactly where it was before, and turns to face his dad. “I would. He came in while I was here, I heard the voicemail. You can’t deny he loves you after what he said.”

“What voicemail?”

“Ah, shit. It must have cancelled because of the whole, you know?”

“Well,” Romeo could see James trying to resist, but the temptation proved too great, “What did he say?”

“Something about ‘you were right, I was worng’, ‘you won’t always be my second choice’ and ‘coming home and he’ll show you what he meant’. Which I’m pretty sure was something I don’t really want to think about.” Romeo tries to shake the image out of his head, but he still sees his dad’s soft smile.

Then he sees the smile harden, becoming more of a grimace, “Clearly his feelings have changed.”

“What makes you say that?”

James pulls his phone out of his pocket, and brings something up on the screen. He hands it to Romeo, “He revealed our affair at the wedding, but I received this not long after.”

It was a text. 'This is over. I never want to see you again.' Simultaneously the most boring, and the most devastating text anyone has ever sent in the history of the world, and Romeo won’t stand for it.

“Well, this proves nothing. Have you been to see him?”

“I’ve been rather busy moping, actually.” James takes his phone back and heads abc to the kitchen. He’d rather watch a kettle boil than show his son what he was feeling.

“Anyone could have sent that text. His dad, his fiancee. You can’t break up over text, you have to at least talk things over or neither of you will ever move on.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s skipped town. Maybe in that heinous car.”

“Bullshit. He’s in hospital.”

The mug in James’ hand falls to the floor, and James shoots around. “What do you mean, he’s in the hospital?”

“Lily told me. He got injured in the storm, been in hospital ever since.”

James takes a shuddering breath, and Romeo feel sick. “Dad?” He doesn’t answer, an Romeo twists his hands together. “Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought…”

He is pulled roughly into a hug, and it takes a moment for him to move his arms and hug his dad back. He doesn’t quite know what to feel. So he holds on for dear life.

“It’s okay. I have to go see him.”

“Yeah, okay. Um, I could go with you.”

James pulls away and looks him in the eye, “You don’t have to. You can go out and meet up with your friends, I won’t burden you with my problems. I’m sure you have a bit of explaining to do with Prince and Lily.”

“No. I want to go with you. It might not the typical father-son stuff, but Harry is important to you, so it’s important to me. You’d do the same for me.”

James nods, and in the blink of an eye, James has everything together to head straight to the hospital.

“Wait, dad! Don’t forget the flowers, yeah.”


	10. Chapter 10

The sharp autumn air on Harry’s face is blessed relief from the oppressive hospital - doctors breathing down his neck as they checked his vitals or whatever, the constant hustle and bustle. It was quieter out here, calmer. And it doesn’t smell of clinical disinfectant.

His mum is at his elbow, guiding him up and down the small stretch of road outside the hospital, even though he insists he can walk fine on his own. But apparently, coming out of a week long coma requires having his mother act as his crutch. He’s too proud to admit that if she wasn’t there he’d have fallen down five minutes ago.

He knows Farrah is watching from the reception, and that the walk combined with his mum’s babbling about her time In Hollyoaks twenty years ago are meant to jog his memory. But he barely remembers it.

He could probably swear the coffee shop wasn’t a coffee shop, or just had a different name. But he barely paid any attention to it the last time he was in the village a year before - at least it feels that way to Harry. It still baffles him that everyone else his age has four times more life experiences than he does, simply because a tree hit him over the head.

One stupid little twig is the reason he feels like an alien in his own home, watching life go on around him without understanding anything. Everyone in the village belongs here. Everyone but him.

The baby in a stroller has a home, a family, favourite toys and a play group to go to every weekend. The teenage girls sipping iced coffee in freezing November have an intense, ever-expanding web of gossip, homework to do, favourite and least favourite teachers at school. The old man in the waiting room has a family, if the small toddler giggling up at him is any indication, and someone to what in a hospital for. God, even Harry’s mum has more of a life in this village than he does.

She smiles tightly at people she used to know, and whispers into Harry’s ear all the stories she knows about them. She has memories, loads of them by the sounds of it, about these places. She could tell him what they were like twenty years ago.

Jealousy coils around his heart like a boa constrictor, and suddenly it’s hard to breath. He should have a life here! Friends and enemies, work and school, even trivial gossip. He should have it all! But instead all he has is this blank space in his mind that feels like sleeping. Like he slept through four fucking years!

And how is he meant to get it all back again? Everyone he knew will be four years ahead of him. They’ll mention something they did together and he won’t remember. He’ll be a completely different person to the one they knew. They’d bore of keeping track of what memories he has and doesn’t have. Or, better yet, they won’t even try, they’ll just brush him aside because he’s too much effort. Just like his dad.

“Mum, I think this is enough for one day. I’d like to go back inside.” Harry forces the words through his lips, feeling the tears at the corners of his eyes. Luckily, good old mum is a perceptive woman, and she just nods and begins to steer him back to the hospital.

Unfortunately, it’s slow going and Harry is subjected to even more people watching. A little girl with a bright pink cast on her arm, a man with a pretty bouquet of flowers, crying parents and old people with zimmer frames walking faster than him.

Harry pulls his mum to a stop, wincing at a sudden throb of his head - great, just what he needed, a migraine on top of everything else.

“Harry, are you okay?”

The unfamiliar voice jolts him. Finally, someone here seems to know me, a bitter voice in Harry’s mind quips. He looks up at a boy not much younger than Harry is - but, no, he’s actually twenty and he has to remember that now - and a man Harry presumes is his father. It’s the man with the pretty flowers. And he has a pretty face too - more than pretty, he’s beautiful, handsome.

“Harry?”

Harry is mortified to realise he has been staring at the man and his son, mouth catching flies, while they worry over his wellbeing. Way to go, Harry, they might be the only people who care in this village.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.” He tries to smile but he’s pretty sure it’s more of a grimace. Something in the man’s face twitches, as if he’s trying to figure something out. It’s adorable. And now Harry’s staring again. Thank God his mum has some tact.

“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?” She asks politely, smiling at both of them. The young boy slaps on a grin and hold out his hand. Clearly he’s like Harry’s mum, the un-awkward charmer.

“I’m Romeo. This is my dad, James Nightingale.”

Tessie shake the hand offered, and nods thoughtfully, “I think I’ve heard that name before. I’m Tessa Thompson, Harry’s mum.” She shakes the dad - James’ - hand, too, and looks at him in a way that makes Harry’s goosebumps rise on Harry’s skin. Something’s going on and he feel sort of the loop. The three people around him know something he doesn’t, and he’s betting it’s about him.

“So, um… Who are the flowers for?” Harry finds he can’t look away from James’ face, watching in fascination at the melancholia that commands his features before he carefully locks it away.

“They’re for you, actually.” He holds them out like a barrier, a shield, and Harry feels like shit. Here he is, possibly the most beautiful man Harry has ever seen, standing in front fo him with a bunch of flowers, and Harry has no idea who the man is. God, why is he like this? Such an idiot!

“Dad…” The boy - Romeo - says it quietly and he almost manages to take his dad’s attention from Harry. “I think…” James makes a move and Romeo shuts up.

“I’m sorry.” Harry blurts. “I don’t know who you are.”

It’s like a blow to his own stomach as he says the words, he can’t imagine what the man must be feeling. This is just what Harry feared - some how, in the four years he’s missing, this man built a relationship with him strong enough to leave this expression on his face. Utter heartbreak.

“I need to go inside. Mum, I’m tired.” Harry mumbles, taking his mum’s arm to steady himself.

“Wait.” Harry looks up at the sad smile on James’ face, “You should still take the flowers. Brighten the hospital room.”

Harry nods and takes them from man’s hand, and if he brushes their fingers together intentionally in the hope that it might trigger some memories, then that’s fine. Because none come. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry.”

As his mum guides him back to the hospital, and hands him over to Farrah like a breakable piece of porcelain - ‘tag, you’re it’ - Harry replays the way James Nightingale says his name over and over. Such a boring name has never sounded as good as when it comes out of that man’s mouth.

When Harry is finally lying in bed again, his muscles aching and feeling more exhausted than he can remember, Farrah goes to get him a vase for the flowers still clutched in his hands. He doesn’t know where his mum’s gone, but he doesn’t care.

Because these are his favourite flowers - or they were four years ago. Harry furiously wipes away a tear. How can he not remember this man?


	11. Chapter 11

“Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I swear. Lily just said he was injured - I knew nothing about anything.”

“It’s okay, Romeo, I believe you.”

James’ heart feels like it’s been ripped into a thousand pieces. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling - he can’t count the number of times this heart has been broken over Harry Thompson in the last week alone - but this feels worse. Deeper. The ache is bone deep, and he’d cry if he wasn’t in the middle of the coffee shop.

“Dad—”

“Honestly, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You can talk to me, you know.”

James looks up at his son, and realises that he does have a son. And his son cares about what he’s feeling, even if it’s a lot of lovesick moping. He’d do the same for Romeo.

“I’ve lost Harry before - many times in fact. To prostitution, Ste, prison, the list goes on. But this feels… complete. There’s no going back. All those other times, I was sure I could find a way to get through to him, to steal a few moments and maybe even convince him to stay for good. But there’s no chance of that now. I’d gladly go back and take all the moments I could get with him, even if it meant him marrying Ste - I wouldn’t care, because at least he’d recognise my face.”

“I didn’t realise you felt that strongly about him.”

“There’s never been anyone else. Sure, I’ve have other boyfriends - John Paul, and Kyle, and a few flings here and there - but none have captured my attention and my heart like Harry. It’s not the most romantic story, and there are certainly parts I wish had been done differently, but that’s just the way we were. He sees me, and he loves all of it. The good, the bad and the ugly.” He pauses, and the wistful smile drops. “Loved.”

“You could still get it back, you could…” Romeo trails off at the sight of the woman looming over their table. Harry’s mother, Tessa Thompson.

James clears his throat and pushes out the remaining chair at their table, “Feel free to sit, Miss Thompson.”

“Oh, please. Call me Tessa and I’ll call you James. You’re in love with my son, I think that warrants a first name basis.”

James is thrown, but now he knows where Harry gets his confidence. Tessa Thompson isn’t a woman to take bullshit.

“Okay, then, Tessa. What can I do for you?”

“You know, my ex mentioned you. He hinted at a few things, so I went digging. The gossip I heard - oh, it was fascinating. Now, I don’t usually approve of cheating, or blackmail, or pimping, or alleged kidnapping, or supposed murderers.” James’ blood runs cold, this woman knows everything. “But I also know that Hollyoaks is a honeypot for everything scandalous or even remotely dramatic, and I know it can make you do crazy things. Normally I would drag my son as far away from this village and the people in it, as I could get. I would burn every bridge and enjoy it.

“But the man who just gave my son flowers, is not the man from those stories. So why don’t you tell me what gossip can’t?”

Honestly, James can’t think of a decent place to start that won’t make the woman punch him or spit on him. But he has nothing to lose.

“Well, I think the beginning is a good place to start.”

“A very good place.” Tessa gives nothing away, the perfect poker face.

“My attraction to your son started when I moved to the village and got to know him. An incredibly smart boy in a soul destroying relationship. I did some thing I’m not proud of to show my attentions, and there were a million more obvious and less illegal methods, but I’m not like that. And Harry is - was - the only person who never tried to change that.

“That was two years ago, or there about. Things have escalated over the years until it was full blown affair behind his fiancee’s back - emotional and physical. And then I said that I loved him and he said it back. But he was still going to marry Ste because of his family. He was scared to tell them because he knew he’d lose them if he did.”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me all the grisly details - I’m a grown woman, I’ve been around a long time.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear that about your son.”

“And I’m guessing you don’t want your own son to hear it either.”

“Not really.”

Tessa leans back in her chair, and James can see how tired she is. He pushes his untouched coffee towards her with a tight smile, “How is Harry?”

"Not good. Coma and amnesia aside, he’s coping well being in hospital with just me. He’s confused and lost and… in pain. And that hurts me. I’m his mum, I was supposed to protect him from everything and look how badly I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. Harry is a wonderful, intelligent young man, and a credit to you.” James puts a hand on her arm, willing her to understand. She covers his hand with hers, and nods in thanks.

“You’re sweet.”

Romeo asks, “The amnesia, how much has he forgotten?”

“Four years.”

James splutters, “Four years! That much?” Tessa simply nods. Now he knows exactly why Harry looked so sad and confused, so innocent - he’s lost four years. And so much happened in those years that shaped him into the man James knew so well. Homelessness, prison, prostitution, the list goes on.

“But that means James isn’t the only person he’s forgotten.” Romeo adds with a glint in his eyes. He looks at his dad, imploring him to understand. Finally, he sighs, and relents, “He doesn’t know he was dating Ste, or that they were even engaged, right?”

James cracks a smile for his son’s sake, “You’re right, at least he doesn’t have to remember any of the drama. He can have a fresh start.”

Tessa rolls her eyes dramatically. “I thought you were meant to be smart.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What your son is trying to say is that this offers a unique opportunity for you and Harry. To rekindle your romance without any of the drama and illegality. You can see if the spark is still there.”

“You’re insane.”

“Come on, Dad. It’ll be like a proper romance this time.”

“But, what if—”

“No, buts, Nightingale.” Tessa leans forward right into James’ personal bubble. Her eyes blaze with a dark fire. She’s a fierce mother dragon, guarding her only child, like the treasure he is. Terrifying. If Harry has even a fraction of this righteous anger, then it’d be more than enough to get him his way. “You love my son, don’t deny it. And that love isn’t going to go away, so you might as well do something with it. And whether you flirt with my son and try to rebuild your relationship or just sit there and keep him company - you will stay by his side. Do you hear me? He’s been living in this village for four years and his only visitors are me, and the doctors. His own father hasn’t been to see him because he blames him for breaking Ste’s heart and sleeping with you. I don’t give a shit if you're his boyfriend or not, but you will be his friend. He needs a friend right now. I am sick of watching him die of loneliness in that hospital whenever I can’t be there. I can’t watch him go through that.

“Please, James. I am begging you.”

James’ heart breaks, and anger of his own surges through his veins. There is no way in hell that he will let Harry go through this alone. Over his dead body.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let him be alone.”

Romeo grins, and James can’t help the blush rising up his neck.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s the same as before. Harry still can’t get past this one line in his book before his gaze drifts to the flowers sitting on his bedside. And looking at the flowers makes this frustration rise like a tidal wave in his chest. It’s painful. It’s all-consuming. And he wishes it would just go away and he could focus on reading this book like he wanted to. He doesn’t want to mope about all the time! He’s not a child!

Harry hurls the book at the wall, the satisfying thwack it makes on the wall and floor easing the tension in his chest just a little. He wants to throw more things. Wants to let his feelings out at something, someone.

“Woah. What happened here?” Farrah chooses that moment to walk in, immediately taking in his expression and the book. She picks it up, straightening the pages and putting on the table. “Something you want to talk about, Harry?”

Harry bites his lip. There’s no guarantee he won’t rip into Farrah and she doesn’t deserve that. He’s not angry at her. She takes a seat next to him, setting her little black book on her lap, pen still capped.

“How was your walk?”

“Short.”

“It may take a while for your body to regain some strength. Comas can be physically draining, even though you’re unconscious, and we don’t want to run before we can walk.”

“I don’t even feel like I can walk. It was mostly mum carrying me.”

“Baby steps.”

Harry scoffs, “Literally.”

“It doesn’t help that you weren’t in peak condition when you were first admitted. You know that you weren’t eating properly and you were under a lot of stress. It’s all just catching up to you.”

“I know all that. Doesn’t stop me from feeling like…” Harry clenches his fists in the blankets. The urge to punch something is getting to him.

“Like what, Harry?”

Harry averts his eyes, “Like a failure.”

“How so?”

“I can’t even walk without help. Or read a paragraph in my book. Or remember the only person in this fucking village who seems to care!” Harry looks at the flowers, and now he wants to cry. God, why is he so emotional?

Farrah remains annoyingly calm. Blinking slowly like a cat, tilting her head to observe him better. He feels like prey. “What else?”

“I feel… I feel like a disappointment because I can’t remember. Everyone’s disappointed in me, because it’s so easy and I should be able to do it!”

“You are not a disappointment and no one is thinking that. You have amnesia and no one is forcing you get better before your mind is ready to start healing and recovering memories. There’s no guarantee that they’ll come back, and some may return but others may not. You will heal at your own rate. But you are not a disappointment.” Farrah’s voice is lilting, soothing. It reminds him of Morgan Freeman. He could fall asleep to her voice if he let himself relax enough.

“Then why is no one visiting. My mum is here, and some guy brought me flowers. But eventually, they’ll realise I’m not going to get better and something will come up and they’ll leave!”

“Is that something you’re worried about? That people might leave you?”

“I’m not worried that it might happen, because I know that it will. Something is always more important than me. I’ve never been anyone’s first choice, their first priority. It’s inevitable that the people I love will tire of me, for one reason or another. Nothing is ever about me.”

“Harry…”

“Go away. I’m tired. Can we finish this another time?” Harry is already picking his book up again, hoping to make it past the first sentence by the end of the day.

“Harry?” Harry glances up briefly, and Farrah takes her chance, “Don’t push people away because of something they might do. People can surprise you.”

Harry doesn’t reply. Instead he forces himself to get lost in the world of Pip and his Great Expectations.


	13. Chapter 13

James steadies himself as he approaches Harry’s room. Unprecedented nerves cause his hands to shake and his breathing to come out unsteady. He wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers and takes the final step to the door.

He peers through the window, and catches Tessa’s all-seeing eye for a second. Harry dominates his view as she gets up to leave. A book abandoned in his lap, the flowers James brought him in a vase on the table - right in Harry’s eye line - and well-watered. He’s nowhere near the carefree, laughter-filled young man he was when James first met him, but at least he doesn’t have the haunted look from the past year. He’s forgotten all the horrors he’s seen.

Tessa says nothing as she exits, just winks at him. The blush is forced down as he pushes into the room. Harry recognises him. His gaze flicks to the flowers. He smiles shyly at him. James might just be falling in love all over again.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Harry. May I sit?”

Too enthusiastic nodding ensues, and James takes Tessa’s seat. He goes to speak first, but Harry beats him to it.

“I’m sorry.” James freezes - what doe she have to be sorry for? “I know I’m supposed to remember you, but I don’t. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. How are you feeling anyway?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Sick of that being the first thing everyone says to me.” James laughs loudly. Too loud, it’s like a seal barking, but at least it makes Harry laugh too. “I’m fine. Thanks for the flowers by the way. They’re my favourites.”

“I know.”

Harry looks at him searchingly. Analysing every inch of James’ face. He doesn’t think he’s ever been looked at so closely and it makes him squirm in his seat.

“Something on my face.” It’s Harry’s turn to blush and look away. He shakes his head. James wishes he would just look up again and stop looking so damn sad. He’s not supposed to be sad.

“I’m not expecting you to suddenly remember anything about me. You have amnesia, it’s not going to go away over night. And it’s stupid to just wait for them to come back. You should make new memories.” Harry frowns at him, but he is looking at him. “Why don’t we treat this as a fresh start.” James holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m James Nightingale.”

Harry cracks a wide, loping smile and shakes James’ hand firmly, confidently, “Pleasure, I’m Harry Thompson. Would you like my middle name, too?”

“No, just your phone number.”

James manages to keep a straight face while Harry seems to be imploding. The other man just blinks, and opens his mouth like a fish. “Um…” Finally James breaks out in a grin. It was too good a chance to miss.

“I’m kidding. You can keep your phone number.”

“So you’re…?”

“Gay? As a rainbow.”

Harry chuckles nervously, “I don’t think I’ve ever been hit on by a guy before - not even as a joke. I know, technically, I’m out and all, but I obviously don’t remember.”

“Well, clearly every man you’ve met up until now has been either blind or stupid not to at least try to hit on you. And I wasn’t kidding, not completely.” Harry swallows hard, and James pulls his mind out of the memories of the sweet nights he and Harry had spent together.

“So. Tell me something about yourself, James. How long have we known each other?”

“I thought this was meant to be a fresh start. We’ve only just met after all.”

“Fair point.”

“I have three siblings - Nathan, Ellie and Alfie - though Nathan is unfortunately not with us anymore. My mother’s name is Marnie. I have a son, who you’ve met, his name is Romeo. I only just found out he existed, so our relationship is a little rocky right now. I’m a lawyer, and I moved to Hollyoaks, ooh, about two years ago now? Yeah, two years.”

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

“It’s okay. What about you?”

“I have two siblings on my dad’s side - apparently - Ant and Dee Dee. I don’t really remember them and I haven’t met them, so. My mum’s name is Tessa Thompson, my dad’s name is Tony Hutchinson. I have a step-mum called Diane, some step-cousin-siblings or whatever. I didn’t know my dad until I was eight, and he didn’t know either. I haven’t really lived in Hollyoaks much, just a few summer holidays here and there. I went to a boarding school, but apparently I was expelled because my parents didn’t pay the fees. That’s the last thing I remember - being told I might have to leave.”

“Did you like it there?”

“It was okay. All boys school had a lot of eye candy for a closeted gay teen. I missed my mum at first, but I got over it. It was the best specialist school for dyslexic kids - good support program.”

“I didn’t know you were dyslexic. I never would have guessed.” The things you know and the tings you don’t. It seems he and Harry weren’t as close as they could’ve been. But James decides to think he would’ve come to know everything about Harry if they were in a proper relationship for a few years. And now that he thinks about it, it does make a lot of sense.

“Yeah, I got good at coping with it. Until a tree hit me and now I can’t get through a few sentences before the words start messing about. Anyway, what’s next? Favourite colour?”

“Blue.”

“Green.”

“Good choice. Well, I already know what your favourite flowers are. How about your favourite book?”

“Too hard to choose. Next?”

“I’ll have to agree on that one. Food?”

“You have to try my carbonara - it’s to die for.”

James watches as the weight lifts off Harry’s shoulders. He laughs easier, and moves about and the amount of times he looks away and says ‘sorry’ is lessening. It’s refreshing to have time alone with Harry that isn’t dominated by a carnal need to rip each other’s clothes off, or the sudden realisation that he can’t tell the whole world that he loves Harry Thompson, as much as he would love to, because Harry has a fiancee, and a family that hate him.

They can just be James and Harry.

*

Tessa can’t help the satisfied smirk from ear to ear, like the Cheshire Cat, as she watches her son laugh and smile for the first time in who knows how long. She was right to bring James Nightingale into this, regardless of what the Hollyoaks gossip says about him.

She turns to the waiting area, and James’ young son, Romeo, sat comfortably reading a book. Such devotion, she thinks, coming all the way to the hospital for his father, having to read in the waiting room for hours. Because James will be in there for hours, she can tell.

“Romeo? Do you need anything? I’m going to pick up a few things.”

He looks up, smiles politely, “No, thanks, Miss Thompson.”

Tessa tuts, “It’s just Tessa. You make me feel old.”

“Do you prefer step-grandmother, or still just Tessa?” Romeo smirks, and Tessa bursts out a laugh. Okay, she’ll play along.

“Alright, grandson, you sure you don’t want coffee or anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, gran.”


	14. Chapter 14

Romeo has devoured so much of his dad’s library in the few days they have known each other that he’s starting to think they should invest in more books. And more bookshelves. But he can’t stop. It’s like having his own personal library right at his finger tips. Day or night. He doesn’t have to worry about trekking to the library or paying overdue fees, or even about whether the book has missing pages or been written in. Because this dad’s books are immaculate, like they’ve never been read. But Romeo knows that his dad has read all of them.

The reason he’s been getting through so many is the hospital’s severe lack fo decent reading material. Trashy magazines are good for reading on the loo, but for sitting in waiting room while his dad reconnects with amnesiac boyfriend, only the classics will suffice.

His dad has taken to working from home, well, hospital, recently, to spend time sitting with Harry. And he himself has sat in while James or Tessa had something important to do. The guy is nice, smart just like his dad said, and he can see how good Harry is for James. At first it was slightly awkward, but the tension vanished when they started talking about the book he was reading. And the on to other interests. Football, clothes, even some girl advice. Though Harry hasn’t dated any girls, or guys that he can remember, he knows a lot from romance novels and soap operas and just general knowledge on what he’d find creepy if a guy did it to him.

But right now, dad had brought more flowers to replace the ones in Harry’s room that are refusing to stay alive no matter what Harry does. So Romeo is giving them some time alone, and having some alone time himself with Tess - of the d’Urbervilles, not Harry’s mum.

“Romeo?” He looks up to see Lily, clearly just finishing one of her intern shifts, at the end of the corridor. He smiles when he sees her, and knows it’s a dopey looking smile, but he hasn’t actually seen her in a while. And he missed seeing her.

“Lily. Come sit with me.” He pats the seat next to him, and she grudgingly complies with a furrowed brow.

“What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

“No, don’t worry. I’m here with my dad.”

“James Nightingale? Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine too. He’s here visiting Harry, and I thought I’d tag along.”

“He’s visiting Harry. Why would he do that? I don’t think Tony and Diane’ll be too happy when they hear.”

“Well I don’t think they’ve got any legs to stand on, since they haven’t been to see him since he was admitted. They’re supposed to be his real family, but so far Harry’s family seems to be his mum and my dad. And me, I guess. If they cared so much, they’d spare a few minutes a day to sit with him, at least.”

“What are you on about?”

“You don’t even know, do you? Harry’s own dad hasn’t come to see him. He was dying of loneliness before my dad started coming. Oh, and it’s a nice touch not even telling him that Harry was in hospital, let alone a coma.”

“Romeo, stop! You have no right to talk to me like that.”

Romeo sighs, “You’re right, I’m sorry. But it’s frustrating seeing it everyday and not being able to anything in case I make it worse.”

Lily huffs at him, arms folded across her chest. Romeo wishes he could take back the last minute. Why did he have to take it out on her? Now he’s ruined every chance he had. Great!

“Since when were you so close to your dad, anyway? I know you said you were moving in with him and all, but I expected it to be super awkward and tense. You know, given who is he is.”

“You mean, given he’s James Nightingale and no one seems to have a good word to say about him. Well, everyone is wrong. We have loads in common, and we both want to make this work. I know it’s hard for people to see, but he’s an alright guy once you get to know him. I see why Harry fell in love with him.”

Romeo regrets saying that the second he sees the shadow fall over Lily’s face. Clearly she believes the Hutchinson family line that harry is a traitor for falling for his dad even if he can’t remember it.

“Look, forget about it. I don’t want this to come between us. When are you and prince free? We’ll go for drinks and catch up, yeah?”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Romeo chokes down the pain it causes him to include the husband of the girl he fancies in the plans he’s making with her. Things would be so much easier if she wasn’t married. She’s not even twenty yet, how could she be married already? This is worse than his dad fancying an engaged guy.

Lily has to go home - to her husband - and Romeo tries to focus back on his book. Maybe if he worries about a fictional character’s problems he can forget about his own.

*

James and Romeo finally leave the hospital late in the evening, and return home having gotten a fancy take out from a place his dad swears is the best place in town. Romeo just keeps thinking it’s way too expensive for a takeaway.

They put it onto plates - like civilised people - and eat with actual cutlery at the dinner table, and Romeo asks how James’ day was with Harry. He won’t mention his argument with Lily. There’s no point since it didn’t come to anything life changing. Just the same old heartbreaking conversation and reminder that the girl he loves is married and he will forever be the third wheel.

“So, Romeo. I was thinking we could have a proper family meal, just the two of us. Then we could do some real father-son bonding.” His dad asks, almost tentatively. Is that nerves Romeo senses?

“What do you mean, real? Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

“I don’t think dragging you to the hospital every day so I can talk to my amnesiac maybe boyfriend counts. I’m sure it’s definitely not what you had in mind when you imagined getting to know your father.”

“Sure, but we have been bonding. I know more about you than I did when I first came here. You know what food I’m allergic to and which I just can’t stand. You know my favourite films and TV shows - and don’t deny it, I know you’ve been recording them for me. And I know the same for you. We looked at your baby photos yesterday and you told me so many stories about your siblings and your childhood - good and bad. I know we’ve still got a lot to catch up on, but we’ve made a pretty good start. Besides, you’ve known your dad all your life and he’s a piece of pure crap, and your relationship with him is appropriately terrible. Harry’s known his dad since he was eight, and the man doesn’t seem to care about him at all. Time isn’t an indicator of how good a relationship should be. To Harry, you’ve only known each other for a week, yet I’m pretty sure you're the most important person to him right now. It’s the same with me.”

James is speechless, and for a moment Romeo wonders if he’s overstepped some boundary. Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken to blatantly about his grandfather. But then, James wipes away a tear and smiles at him.

“You’re right. I guess we do know more about each other than I thought. I just don’t quite know why you’re okay coming to the hospital every day. You could be out with Prince and Lily, or your sister.”

“I can do that any other time. Going to the hospital to see Harry is important to you, so it’s important to me too. Besides, I like getting to know my future step-dad.”

James almost chokes on his food. Spluttering, he forces down a blush. “Do me a favour, Romeo, and never say that to Harry’s face.”

“Alright fine. But I’m not the only one thinking it. Tessa likes getting to know you too.”

“I know. I heard all about you calling her ‘grandmother’.”

Romeo swallows his food and puts down his fork, “About grandmothers. Are you going to fix things with your mum or…?”

“I don’t think so. At least not any time soon. I have other things to worry about than my mother’s drama, and she needs to understand what she did wrong. When she come grovelling to me, begging to be back in my life, then I might think about it. But that’s enough about that. Now, finish eating that and I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer.”

Romeo does as asked, satisfied that his dad isn’t in denial or pushing things away that he really needs to deal with. His dad is a complex man, and Romeo is starting to understand what a difficult job Harry had in both understanding and getting through to him.

“I think Tessa wants us to have a dinner together, once Harry gets out of hospital. Would you be up for that?” His dad asks.

Romeo nods enthusiastically.

“I can teach you how to cook, too. I know you’ve been eyeing the cookbooks.”

“You just want a chance to show off in front of Harry.” Romeo smirks.

“And if I do?”

Romeo and James finish up their takeaway in pleasant silence. But as James takes the plates away to wash up, Romeo finally blurts what’s been on his mind for a while.

“Thanks, dad.”

“What for?”

“Fot accepting me. I know it’s not been easy for you - with my mum, and your mum and everything else that’s going on. But I’m glad I’m getting to know you. And that you told Harry about me.”

“Why wouldn’t I tell Harry? I would’ve told him if he hadn’t lost his memory. It’s just easier that he knows everything from the very start. I’m not going to lie to him, and you shouldn’t either. If he asks anything, anything at all, you tell him. I won’t mind.” James come back to sit next to his son, one hand on his shoulder. “And I’m glad to get the chance to know you too. I don’t regret letting you into my life.”

James pulls Romeo into a hug, and both men try to put as much fo their feelings for each other into it. Romeo isn’t sure how well he does, but he hopes his dad at least understands a fraction of it. This is the best thing to happen to Romeo in a long time.


	15. Chapter 15

The grin on Harry’s face threatens to split his face in two. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Farrah and Misbah agreed that he could be discharged so long a she kept coming in for check ups with Farrah and made sure they were kept updated, and yada yada yada. He just wants to get out of here!

He’s packing his bag with all the books and clothes he’s accumulated over the past few weeks. It’s only a shame he can’t take the latest bouquet of flowers from James with him. They just keep getting wilder and bigger, not to mention the messages James leaves in there for when he can’t come to visit due to work or whatever it is. Harry’s keeping the messages though. He’s going to put them in a box and keep them forever, he thinks.

Zipping up the bag shut, Harry sits down on his bed. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to do. He’d been so excited to know he could finally go home that he’d rushed through packing and now he had nothing to do until tomorrow. His mum had gone to get things ready for him at home - cleaning up, probably, since she’s been practically living in his hospital room. Maybe James or Romeo will come visit. But he thinks James is working, and Romeo might have friends to hang out with.

But that’s fine. Harry knows they’ll all be there tomorrow when he gets out. And he has a DVD he can watch on his mum’s laptop. He’s not completely alone anymore. He has friends and a family that love and appreciate him. Things are looking up.

There’s a knock on the door just as Harry is getting the laptop and DVDs back out of the bag - maybe it was a bad decision to pack everything up. He looks up, expecting Farrah or maybe Romeo, his mouth falls open as he recognises his dad.

Tony Hutchinson looks sheepish, hovering in the doorway, unsure if he can enter or not. He’s tired, and older than Harry remembers him being. The dark circles and lines in his face made more prominent by the clothes he’s wearing - days old and crumpled. Harry guesses he just came back from spending the night with Dee Dee.

“Hey, Harry.” His dad enters and takes the seat next to the bed. James sits in it better. Reclined, legs crossed, looking like a king on his throne even though it’s just an uncomfortable plastic covered chair. Tony just looks cramped and achy.

Harry manages to lift the corners of his mouth slightly - not quite a smile. Why now? What does his dad want? If he thinks he can just erase the past two weeks with a stupid ‘hey, Harry’ then he’s got another thing coming.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you much.” Or at all, Harry thinks spitefully, “Things have been hectic at home. What with Dee Dee, and sorting out the aftermath of the wedding.” Tony looks up at him obviously. Harry knows what he’s going to ask next. “Have you… you know, remembered anything? About the wedding?”

Harry shakes his head.

“The doctors say it should take time. But these things are unpredictable, anything could trigger some memories. Even the simplest of things, like, like, uh, like a picture, or a place. Like deja vu.” Tony reaches into his pocket for his phone, and pulls up his photo gallery. He thrusts it at Harry and starts flicking through them. “See, that’s me and Diane. And me and you. That’s Scott, there, you remember Scott? And there’s Ste.”

His dad looks up at him with those big pleading, puppy-dog eyes, and guilt churns in Harry’s stomach. His dad flicks through more pictures, saying names Harry doesn’t know, and mentioning places Harry has never been to.

“Dad, stop! I don’t remember any of these.” He pushes the phone back at him. He won’t look up at the expression on his dad’s face. He knows it will just make things worse.

“Come on, Harry. Son, you must have something. I need to know you’re getting better.” Tony pleads. That bitter voice in Harry’s mind spits, So you can leave me alone for weeks again without worrying your fucking conscience!

“Please, Harry.”

“There might be some things, dad. But it’s nothing life changing and it’s never going to happen over night.”

“But there’s something? What is it?” The light in Tony’s eyes is blindingly annoying. And the only way to appease him is to tell him something, so Harry says something that’s been niggling at the back of his mind for a while now.

“Well, there’s this guy who’s been really nice to me, and I think his face is familiar. Like it was really important before. Before I lost my memory. He gave me those flowers.”

Tony’s brow furrows, and he mutters something Harry doesn’t catch. He turns to the flowers, snatching up the card nestled in the stems. Harry doesn’t have to look at it to recite what it says. ‘Hope the tedium doesn’t kill you while I’m gone. Love from, James.’ Harry’s heart goes all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.

“James?” There’s something in his dad’s voice that quickly pulls Harry from his day-dreaming.

“Yeah, do you know him? James Nightingale. I have a theory about who he is, but, it probably sound stupid.”

“Oh. And what’s this theory?” His dad won’t look at him, his eyes are fixed on the card, his hand gripping it tight.

Harry pries it from his fist, “Careful, you’ll crease it.” His dad finally looks up at him. “Everyone keeps saying I was going to get married when the storm started, that it was my wedding day. Well, I put it all together. How sweet James is to me, and the fact that he brought me flowers - and people buy flowers for people they really like, don’t they? - and just how easy it is to be around him. Like he sees me for me, and not for the amnesiac I am.”

“And?”

“Well… Was he my fiancee?”

Something dark falls across Tony’s face. Anger blazes in his eyes and he clenches his fists. His knuckles are white. Harry wants to cram the words back down his throat. Why did he ever think asking his dad that was a good idea? He should’ve asked his mum, or one of the doctors. Shit! Shit, shit shit.

His dad is pacing now. Hopefully he’ll have let out all his anger on the floor he’s currently trying to wear down. Then he won’t yell at Harry. Harry whose heart is pounding in his ears. Why is he so scared? He’s never been scared like this in his life.

“Dad?” He sounds like a little mouse. Timid and shaking. He almost flinches when his dad turns back to him. His anger hasn’t suddenly disappeared.

“You listen to me, Harry. That man is nothing but trouble. He has tried to ruin this family before and I will not let him ruin us again! He’s sick and twisted. He’s trying to manipulate you again, Harry. Be glad you don’t remember what he did to you! To our family! He’s a bad man.”

Harry shakes his head. That’s not right. His dad’s wrong. James has been nothing but kind to Harry - he wouldn’t try to ruin him. Flowers and poetry aren’t conducive to ruination. He wants to scream it in Tony’s face, but he just cowers away from the man towering over him.

Tony lunges forward and grabs his son by the shoulders. Harry doesn’t think he realises just how much he is shaking him. “Please, Harry. If you had your memories you’d understand. You’d want away from him too. He’s a disgusting, sadistic, cold man! You want him to be your fiancee - but he’s not capable of love! Look at me, Harry, when I’m talking to you! He’s tricking you. Manipulating you.”

Harry tries to push his dad off, to get rid of the hands crushing his arms and pushing his face up to look at his dad. The spit is flying and Harry feels like he’s going to explode. He’s in his face. He’s all Harry can see.

Everything his dad is saying is whirling around his mind, over and over again. None of it fits with the idea of James in his mind. The charming, dapper, suave gentleman who listens to him and shares the same interests as him. That isn’t the man his dad is describing.

Harry’s heart is pounding in his ears, his blood rushing like a river, and all he can hear is the cacophony of heartbeat, blood, and his own laborious breathing. Tony keeps spitting abuse at him but he can’t hear it.

He gasps. He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? Why is it so hard?

*

Tony feels his throat go raw as he tries to get his son to understand. It might be the most important thing he ever taught him - to stay away from James Nightingale. And for once, Harry might actually listen to him.

“Harry, you have to understand me. Harry— Harry? Harry!”

Tony’s pleading hold on his son loosens as he feels Harry go limp in his arms. Tony steps back in shock. What happened? It’s barely a second before Harry’s body starts to seize.

Watching his boy tense and lurch, flop like a fish out of water on that hospital bed, Tony feels the familiar panic rise in his chest. It’s like Dee Dee all over again.

“Nurse! Someone help!” Tony can’t look away from his son’s writhing body. He looks so young, too young.

The doctors pile in, Misbah in the lead, and Tony slowly backs out of the room. There’s nothing he can do. He’s helpless yet again. He can’t do this, not after Dee Dee.

Tony finally turns away and rushes back to Dee Dee’s room, where Diane, Tegan and the kids are waiting for him. He needs to make sure the rest of his family is okay.


	16. Chapter 16

Tessie paces back and forward, her nails bitten down to stumps, as she waits for Doctor Maalik to come out of Harry’s room. She’d been in there for hours ever since Harry’s seizure, she and her daughter, the other doctor. They hadn’t let anyone go in and sit with Harry while they talked to him. Something about making sure his recovery wasn’t set back too far - that he hasn’t lost any more memories.

The thought that Harry might have lost even more time is… It’s unthinkable.

The sound of pounding footsteps interrupts her musing, and Tessa lets out a sigh of relief when James and Romeo round the corner. James immediately pulls her into a hug, as she dissolves into violent sobs, her tears soaking his shirt.

“It’s going to be okay, Tessa. Harry’s a strong lad, he’ll be fine.” James doesn’t sound as convincing as he thinks he does. But she appreciates his effort. It’s like all her walls are down and she just cries herself out.

Tessa finally lets go, wiping her eyes, and pulls Romeo into a hug of his own. He looks just as worried about his dad, for someone he barely knew two weeks ago. She’s surprised by the strength of Romeo’s hug - how tightly he wraps his arms around her.

“Do they know what happened?” He mumbles into her shoulder.

“I don’t know. I was at home getting ready for Harry to come back when I got the call. He had some seizure, but other than that I don’t know. The doctors are in there with him now.”

James moves to look through the window in the door, as if to check for himself that Harry really is okay. Tessa already knows what he’ll see. Harry sat in bed, hands in his lap, eyes down, looking worse than he did when he realised his dad wasn’t going to visit. Doctors sat around him, clipboards at the ready, asking him questions in soft voices. Hoked up to machines again, just in case.

“They won’t tell you anything?” James steps away from the window, sitting heavily on the chairs in the corridor. Tessa and Romeo join him. “You’re his mother, you have a right.”

“As much as it pains me to sit here, my son’s health comes first. So if I have to sit out here while they help him, not knowing anything, then that’s fine. Harry…” She chokes on a sob, and pulls a well used tissue out of her pocket and wipes her nose. “Harry comes first. Always.”

So the three of them make themselves comfortable, silently comforting one another, waiting for the Doctors Maalik to make their appearance.

Finally, Misbah and Farrah exit looking just as weary as Tessa feels, and their faces do not look positive. Tessa shoots to her feet, but doesn’t dare to say the first word. The doctors share a look, and Farrah quickly departs.

“Miss Thompson, “Misbah casts a quick glance at James and Romeo but decides to focus on the fretting mother. “He’s okay.”

Tessa lets out a long breath and her knees go weak. She would have fallen were it not for the Nightingales at her elbows, holding her up. The fear that she had been carrying in her heart finally started to vanish.

“From what we can tell, the seizure was caused by a, well, a memory overload is the best way to describe it. His body couldn’t cope and he went into shock. He’s stable for now and we don’t think it will happen again, but we won’t rule it out at this point. I’m afraid Harry won’t be leaving hospital tomorrow.”

“Memory overload - you mean, he’s remembered?” Asks Romeo.

“Only certain things.” Tessa catches the look on Misbah’s face, and has a feeling she won’t like the reason why.

“What things? What exactly triggered the memories?”

“Now, I don’t mean to presume or to judge, but… Harry’s father was visiting him when the seizure occurred, and from what little Harry has told us, it was not a good experience and the memories he has regained aren’t making much sense to him, but they aren’t positive. You can go in and see him yourself.” Misbah gestures back to the door, and Tessa doesn’t spare a second to thank the doctor before she’s in the room, wrapping her son in her arms.

Tessa is holding on so tight, it doesn’t register at first that Harry is as still as stone in her arms. She rubs his back and kisses his cheek. Anything to get him to respond. Finally, after a lot of coaxing, Harry suddenly clings to her like a baby koala and she can feel damp on her shoulder. Despite the waterfall of tears soaking into her shirt and the violent shaking of his shoulders, Harry barely makes a sound.

What has he remembered? What could possibly have left him so broken and lost? Tessa can’t begin to imagine what is going through her son’s head, but one thing is for sure - she won’t let go until he pulls away. Clearly, he needs this hug more than anything.

*

Harry had cried himself to sleep an hour ago, Tessa, James and Romeo hadn’t left the room for longer than a five minute toilet break, and Tessa had thought Harry would get some peace while sleeping. But she was proven wrong when her little boy began to cry in his sleep.

Big, fat tears slip down his cheek, and he made such small, innocent whimpers that cracked her heart each time they passed his lips. She had been on high alert from the second it first started, and now she has a strong hold on Harry’s hand, James stroking the other while forcing back tears of his own. Romeo could do nothing but watch.

“The doctor said his dad had been in? Do you think he’d know what caused it?” Romeo asks innocently. But the two adults share a meaningful look. Chances are Tony is the cause itself.

Tessa moves her hand to stroke the short hairs away from Harry’s face. It worked when he was younger to rid him of nightmares, she isn’t sure how well it will work now that he’s twenty, but it’s worth a shot. She tries to block out James’ quiet words to his son.

“Romeo… you know Harry’s relationship with his dad wasn’t the best, but even before everything with the storm and the wedding and me - he was never going to win Dad Of The Year. Tony can be… bull-headed and thoughtless, and he’s said things to Harry in the past that have caused him to spiral out of control and go to dark places. It’s likely that Tony triggered something related to him, and some events can come across worse out of context. Not knowing the reasons or motivations behind words or actions can make everything seem darker. It’s not good for anyone.”

Romeo doesn’t reply. Tessa lets out a sigh of relief as Harry quietens down, the creases of tension lining his face smoothing out as nicer dreams take over.

“If I find out Tony caused this. I will kill him the next time I see him.” Tessa vows.

“We’ll give you an alibi.”

*

“Mum?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Tessa tightens her grip on Harry’s hand. He’d woken up a while ago, but had said nothing to his three visitors. He simply lay in bed, staring into space, wringing the blanket in his fist. This was the first thing he’d said to Tessa since she’d left to ready the flat. She wasn’t going to take this lightly - it’s a shame Romeo and James had been forced to go home for the night by the doctors (“biological family only”).

“Do I disgust you?”

Tessa chokes on air, “No, of course not, baby. Why would you think that?”

Harry looks away, ashamed, “It’s what dad said.”

In the back of her mind, Tessa starts to plan a murder. She gets up on to the bed and pulls her son close to her side. “Was this when he came to visit you earlier?”

He shakes his head.

“So, it was in a memory?”

He nods.

“Was it just that that you remembered?”

He shakes his head again, “Lots of things. ‘You disgust me’, ‘I’m ashamed to call you my son’—”

“You don’t have to tell me, Harry. Not if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to. I want you to know so you can understand.”

Tessa sniffs, “Okay.” And braces herself.

“‘You disgust me’. ’I’m ashamed to call you my son’. ‘You’re not capable of love’. ‘You’re not even an animal’. ‘This is about what you’ve done’. ‘I don’t want you round my wife and children’. ‘I don’t want to look at you anymore’.” His voice is detached and emotionless. Probably the only way he could get through them without crying.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“I keep remembering more. None of them make any sense. I don’t know if they were all at once, or spread out over four years. There’s something missing but I can’t put my finger on it. Like it’s on the tip of my tongue. Why would he say those things?”

“Whatever your father said to you, whatever you remember - you deserved none of it. You are an incredible young man, beautiful and smart and funny, and you have made me the proudest mum ever. Your father is an arse; he’s a stupid, ignorant and selfish man who doesn’t deserve you. You push whatever he said to you out of your mind.”

Harry snuggles closer to his mum, and his grip on her hand tightens. What now? Was there more that Tony inflicted on him?

“When he came to visit, when I remembered, he was saying the same things. But he wasn’t talking about me.”

“Who was he talking about?”

“He was talking about James. And now I don’t know what to do.”


	17. Chapter 17

Romeo tries not to storm into Harry’s hospital room with too much force and anger, but he can’t quite help it. He is sick to death of stupid people pushing others away because of their stupid fucking feelings. He knows his dad has a habit of doing it, and that he himself might do it on occasion, but there is no way he will stand for Harry doing it to his dad.

He sits down beside Harry, who is slowly making his way through one of his books, before launching into his tirade, “What is going on in that head of yours, Harry? You got some memories back, and, yeah, they’re bad, but you can’t shove them down and not talk about them to someone. That just make everything worse. Whatever your feeling will eat you up until you tell. And it’s not just you! You’re pushing people away and that hurts. My dad hasn’t been himself lately - not since you said you didn’t want to see him. And you couldn’t even tell him yourself! Had to go through a fucking doctor! He’s going out of his mind with worry for you, and I just know that this whole problem could be easily fixed if you would talk to him! You know him, he won’t get and at you for your feelings, and he’s not going to cast you aside.”

Harry closes his book, and Romeo cuts off his speech. Harry looks up at him, and the complete absence of walls shocks the younger boy.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know your dad. I know the James that has been coming to visit me for weeks, but that’s just things that he’s told me. I only know what he wants me to know. His life outside this hospital could be completely different. He could be a liar.”

“Key word there is ‘could’.” Romeo sighs. Part of him had been expecting Harry to immediately apologise and call James to sort out their problems. But clearly, he needed more than just shouting. “Look, when you first meet someone, anyone, you show them the side of you that you are most proud of. That’s basic fact. You want to be their friend, or their lover, or whatever, so you show them an appropriate side. But as you get to know them better, you learn their flaws and their quirks and all the unique little parts that make them who they are. And you may not like them, or you may love them. But it takes time. You can’t expect my dad to tell you everything from the get go - you guys agreed it was going to be fresh start for both of you. I mean, you haven’t told him any of your dark secrets, have you?”

Harry shakes his head, and a sliver of guilt worms its way into Romeo’s heart. Why is he yelling at the guy? He looks like a child who found out Christmas was cancelled. Or like Romeo when he was seven and his mum told him Santa didn’t give presents to poor children.

“Hey. Harry? I don’t mean to get angry, but you and my dad just need to talk. Trust me, he’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Harry turns towards Romeo, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Will you tell me anything I want to know?”

“Depends whether I know it or not.” Romeo smirks; anything to lighten the mood. At least he seems to have gotten through to Harry.

“What’s James like? As a dad? As a person?”

“Um… Well.” What should he say about his dad? What would be appropriate? What wouldn’t make Harry hate James? But then it hits him. Harry knew everything about his dad before the storm - the good and the bad, the angelic and the devilish, he knew that James pushed people away and did spiteful things when angry or hurt - and he loved him heart and soul anyway. So, if this is the same Harry, which fundamentally, he is, he should still love James when he knows everything now.

“He didn’t know I existed until about three weeks ago, and we’re still working things out. There’s a lot I’m yet to know about him, for one reason or another. But I do know some things. I know that he’s scared to be a dad - because his example growing up was an abusive, manipulative and controlling dick, and he’s terrified that for one second he might be like that for me. I know he won’t because there’s not a bone in his body that could physically harm someone. That’s not to say he can’t be cruel, because he is all too capable of verbally ripping someone to shreds. It serves him well at work, being a lawyer and all, but it’s pushed people away in the past. Which is also something he’s good at. He doesn’t like to show his vulnerabilities or his weaknesses. He does bad things - like tell a child that they were adopted, and he’s stolen sweets from babies, too.”

Harry cracks a small smile at that, but Romeo notes the otherwise blank face. He’s keeping everything under wraps, working it over in his mind. He keeps going.

“From what I gather, he’s not the best at relationships. He doesn’t let people in, usually, because that counts as being vulnerable. But for a special few, he does. And they’ve hurt him in the past - used and abused him. Messed him around and thrown him out when they thought something better had come along. He’s scared to do that again.”

Harry’s gaze flicks to the flowers that, despite everything going on between him and James, are still as fresh as the day they were bought. Romeo hides his happiness - things aren’t as irretrievable and broken between the two men as he thought.

“He’s a good man, to people who are good to him. To those who aren’t - then they better watch out.”

“Thank you, Romeo.”

“Anytime.”

Romeo sense his dismissal, and stands. He just reaches out to grab the door handle, when—

“Romeo?”

He turns, waiting patiently.

“Will you ask your dad if he can come to see me? If he wants to, of course.”

Romeo nods. He already knows what his dad’s answer will be.

*

An hour after receiving a vague voicemail from his son telling him to go, James arrives at the hospital with hot coffee in hand. Part of him maintains that he wanted to get Harry’s favourite of something, but he knows it was just pointless procrastination. Harry might have already asked the nurses to keep him away, but now he just wants to drive the nail in and tell him to leave his life forever.

Not that James could blame Harry. God, no. He’d blame Tony, as always, for messing with his son’s head, as always, and causing those wretched memories to come back. Tessa had given him the gist - and he filled in the gaps for her. That it was what Tony had said to him the day he found out that Harry “killed” Amy and kicked him out of the house.

No, James could never blame Harry. He couldn’t when he kept going back to Ste and his family; not when he tried to sleep with him after dealing with that scumbag dad of Leah’s; not when Harry handed him into the police for their blackmail scam. So many times he forced himself to understand Harry’s point of view. To understand how much family meant to the young man and what exactly he had at risk if their relationship was exposed or didn’t pan out how they wanted it to.

And he knew that Harry did the same for him. Not exactly blaming him for outing a family secret to Rose and Dee Dee; the fact that he was Harry’s pimp was easily swept away, only brought up in arguments when they both knew that they had moved on - it was just a collection of words that meant nothing. To James, honesty and understanding are the keystones to a good relationship, and he and Harry had both of those.

So, as he warily passes the nurses’ station, lest they surprise him and throw him out, he vows to understand Harry’s side. To listen and be honest. Because he’d be damned if he threw away those ideals, if he let whatever they have be irreparably broken by him.

He knocks on the door, and hears a light “come in”. Steeling himself, he enters.

Harry looks nervous. It’s the first thing that registers. It always is - the expression on Harry’s face. He holds out the coffee, thankfully not cold just yet, “Coffee?” Harry smiles and nods, but says nothing. He’s biting his lip. He’s going to make it bleed if he keep on. He hands the drink over, and sits down.

They are silent for a while. Harry slowly draining his cup while James finds that his usual favourite feels like tar slipping down his throat and tastes even worse. His hands feel sweaty and a ball of lead sits heavily on his stomach. Is this really what Harry can reduce him to? Even without original memories of him and having never experienced any of their so called ‘romance’, Harry can leave him a hot, quivering ball of pure anxiety and fear. And he hasn’t even said anything.

“So…” James thanks whatever deity is up there that his voice didn’t croak. “You wanted to see me.”

“Yeah.”

And it’s like the glass wall between them was shattered. James can see how Harry has picked the edge of the blanket to a mere collection of frayed threads and fluff. How it’s more than his lip he was biting. His nails are chewed short and his hair is far too messy even for bedhead - he has a habit of running his hands through it when stressed.

“I just…” Harry starts again, “You know my dad came to see me?”

“I know.”

“Well, he was asking me about my recovery, and my memories. He was desperate for me to have remembered something, so I just told him about you-” The lead in James’ stomach grows hot. He was right - nothing good ever comes from Tony Hutchinson. “-and how great you’ve been to me. And… And he flew off the handle. He was saying such bad things - about you. That you’re sick, and twisted, and a bad man. That you were lying to me.”

It feels like the past two years crammed into one hellish moment. All the years of Harry pulling away form him because of the bad things he’s done. Tony and company tearing them apart - urging Harry to plead guilty to a crime he didn’t commit; convincing him to stay with a man who has treated him so badly over the years; Harry parroting his father and fiancee’s words back at James. A knife twists in James’ gut with every word that comes out of Harry’s mouth.

“He said you weren’t capable of love.”

“Well, that one for definite is a lie.”

“And the rest?”

James takes a steadying breath that doesn’t make him any steadier. He feels faint. He had hoped he could avoid telling Harry any of this - that he would regain the memories on his own and everything would be okay. But, fate, it seems, has other plans.

“True.”

Shockingly, Harry just blinks. He doesn’t run away from the Big Bad Wolf. No spiteful and cutting words follow, or sobs pleading for him to stay away. He just sits there, waiting for him to explain.

“My relationship with your family is complicated. One of the first things I did when I came to the village, was to take your father’s restaurant from him through less than legal means. I blackmailed, lied, schemed him out of thousands as well as his precious business.”

“So my dad said all those things about you because of some two year old grudge?”

“No. Most of the hate between myself and Tony revolves around my relationship with you.” James catches the glint in Harry’s eyes, an idea lodging itself in his brain. James doesn’t think he wants to know what it is, for fear his heart may break if he’s wrong. “I’ve not been the greatest influence on you, Harry.”

“I doubt you could make me do anything I wasn’t planning on doing anyway.” They share a smile. The boa constrictor wrapped around James’ heart vanishes - Harry’s not going to run away screaming.

“Your dad’s right, to not want you around me. There are things I’ve done - terrible, evil things - that even he doesn’t know about. I hope you can understand why they weren’t the first things I told you.” Harry nods. He’s waiting again.

“When I had just become a lawyer - I was twenty-six, maybe - my dad asked me for money, he said his property business had hit a rough patch. One hundred thousand pounds, and I had no choice but to get it for him. Loans were out of the question, and my savings would barely cover one hundredth of what wanted. I had no friends to ask for money, and my siblings could never know. My first pay check would be too little and too late. So I did something drastic. I embezzled money from the company I worked for. And it sent an innocent man to prison, and he committed suicide there. Because of me. Because of what I did. I have his blood on my hands, and his family live in this village and I have to see them everyday. Your doctors - Misbah and Farrah Maalik - were his wife and daughter.”

James can see the cogs turning and turning in Harry’s mind. Coming to terms with the fact that the man opposite him is a murderer and a criminal. Might as well go all the way.

“I kidnapped someone, punched him, and used pictures to blackmail his father. I was a pimp - I sold someone else’s body to some of my clients from work, for money I don’t need. I gave three five-year-old children existential crises. I sent a car over a cliff and told the man I loved that the man he’d had an affair with was in the boot. I offered someone ten thousand pounds to cheat on their boyfriend with me. I let an innocent man go to prison when had the means to exonerate him. I am a spiteful, vindictive, cruel man. I delight in causing other people misery - it makes me feel better about my own problems.”

Harry stays silent for quite a while, and James feels sick. Like worms were nesting in his stomach. He dreads what will come out of Harry’s mouth. And with good reason.

“My dad was right.”


	18. Chapter 18

“My dad was right.”

The knife is ripped from James’ gut and plunged into his heart. He feels hollow inside, like all the light and goodness that come naturally from being around such bright souls as Harry, Tessa and his son, have been carved out. He greets the feeling like an old friend - hopelessness.

“You are cold, and cruel, and evil, and sick. You manipulate and scheme. You are bitter.”

James’ eyes burn. But he refuses to let Harry see him cry. Not with the words that he can’t believe are coming from his mouth. He thought Harry could still understand him, even without his own bad experiences. What. Fool he was to think that he and Harry might be a destined love - one for the ages - that not even a storm and amnesia could keep them apart. He believed Tessa and Romeo when they promised that Harry could still love him, that they could start their love story all over again.

But they aren’t compatible. Not anymore. It’s not original Harry - innocent, sweet, beautiful, fresh out of boarding school with no exes or skeletons - that loves him. How could he? It’s Dark Harry - haunted and scared by the hidden darkness inside of him, who has been through so much that it was impossible for him to come out without a few hundred scars - that loves him. And that Harry is gone.

He just hopes that none of this is appearing on his face. He wouldn’t want Harry to feel guilty about this. He won’t be like Ste. He won’t ruin someone so good and pure. He won’t force him to be with him out of obligation or guilt. That’s not him. Because even if the Harry who loved him is gone, the James that loves Harry is still here. Still willing to get his heart broken by him.

“But he was wrong about one thing.”

James almost chokes. Harry is staring right at him, keeping him in suspense. This isn’t a joke. Please, God, don’t let this be a cruel trick of Harry’s.

“He said you weren’t capable of love. He was wrong. You said yourself, the man you loved cheated on you. You loved him. It takes quite a bit of love to throw a car over a cliff because of an affair. Most people just break a base or something.”

James stifles his sigh of relief. His breathing is slightly ragged, and his throat is dry. “You’re forgetting the part where I told him his ex, and the man he cheated on me with in my bed, was in the boot.”

“But he wasn’t. If you were truly awful, he would’ve been. And in your bed? He’d deserve to be thrown off a cliff.”

“He probably did, especially since he also had a boyfriend.” James looks deep into Harry’s eyes for some hint of recognition. But it seems Ste wasn’t part of the memories he regained.

“Definitely deserved it. The both of them. What did the other guy do? The one who was also cheated on.”

“He broke up with him at someone else’s wedding. But they got back together a while later due to extenuating circumstances.”

Harry scoffs, “He sounds like an idiot. Who honestly got back to the man who cheated on him - what’s to say he won’t do it again?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“But, I mean it, James. You are capable of love. I spoke to Romeo earlier, well, technically he shouted at me until I saw sense. He told me about your newly found relationship, and it’s obvious when I see you that you love him. The way you speak about your family makes that painfully clear. You are an incredibly loving man. No matter what anyone else says.”

“And the other things your father said. They hardly make for the ideal friend.” The word is like vomit in his mouth. James doesn’t think he’s ever been classed as Harry’s friend. They’ve always had the sexual tension and history that meant they skipped straight from acquaintances to illicit and adulterous lovers.

“Yeah, well. No one’s perfect. I’m pretty sure Romeo’s broken the law at some point. And my mum lied about about lying about being pregnant with my dad, then told him he had a kid eight years later at his thirtieth birthday party. And I’m no saint either. Everyone has a dark side, some people just have bigger ones than others. And anyone who can’t accept every part of you, doesn’t deserve you.”

James feels the blush rising up his neck. Dear God, Harry is just pure perfection. He feels like crying in relief. But that’s hardly appropriate, he feels.

“Thank you, Harry. But I can’t believe you’ve ever done anything wrong in your life.”

Harry looks down sheepishly, and James pulls his hands away from destroying the blankets any more. He raises an eyebrow, tempting Harry not telling all. James knows all about the darkness in Harry that grew over the past four years, but everything before that has been eclipsed.

“Fine. You know I wasn’t out when I was at school. I was super in the closet, convinced myself I was straight because that’s what everyone else was. It felt like I lied all the time, like I had a mask on. I agreed with my friends about which girls I liked, because I was scared I’d say the wrong thing or that they’d notice how I stared at their arses instead of the girls’. But I also really wanted to kiss a guy. So I went out to town one weekend on my own, and found someone I thought might be receptive. He was and it was just a kiss, but it kind of confirmed everything. I only saw him the once and I didn’t get his name. I’d forgotten about it soon after, back to my usual lying, until one of the guys at school cornered me and said that he’d seen everything. I was terrified, and he got me to do some messed up stuff by threatening to tell everyone. I wasn’t ready for that, wasn’t quite comfortable with myself enough to have other people know. Until it got to months later and it was still hanging over me and I couldn’t see a way to get him to stop.”

“What did you do?”

“He was telling me about his latest demand, when I punched him right in the face. It felt good. To let the anger out, and seeing him reduced to what I was feeling inside at the time. But I didn’t stop there. I got him accused of cheating and malpractice in the end of year exams, and I wrote graffiti and made out that he’d done it. I got him expelled from school. For some reason, he never told about my sexuality, even when he had nothing to lose.”

“That’s a very James Nightingale thing to do.” James squeezes Harry’s hand.

“Why, thank you.” Harry grins, “I know it’s nothing like the things you’ve done, and it’s stupid to try and compare.”

“But you were how old? Fifteen, sixteen? I have twice your experience. Wait until you get to my age, then we can compare notes.” James swears to never let Harry get that far down the rabbit hole. He won’t be like Ste.

“You’re not that old.”

“I have a son four years younger than you. I was twelve when you were born.”

“Twelve years is nothing. One of my teachers at school was married to a woman twenty years older than him. Age is just a number - time is a social construct. It doesn’t matter to me.”

James really hopes it won’t matter when he gets round to asking Harry out on a date.


	19. Chapter 19

It’s another few days before the doctors agree to discharge Harry again - with the proviso that he has a responsible adult - i.e. Tessa or James - around in case any new memories cause more seizures. It’s an unspoken agreement between them all that Tony should be kept away. Harry knows there are a few more names on the list besides his dad’s, but he guesses no one wants to risk the mention of them. It’s annoying, but he understands.

This time, Harry has put off packing until the last minute, and he’s waited until his mum has returned and James has gone back home with Romeo. He wants this time to be different. He wants to be discharged for real this time. But part of him keeps expecting his dad to knock on the door again and start shouting.

“So, Harry, I was thinking that for your first evening out of hospital, we could go to James’ for dinner. It’ll be a nice, quiet family dinner.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Harry focuses on packing, not showing his mum the furious bluish that spread up his neck at the word ‘family’. He can’t stop himself from daydreaming about James - he’s a handsome man, smart and sweet and honest and just… lovely - and, yeah, he can imagine going on dates with the guy and maybe the word family doesn’t quite freak him out.

But, as always, his mum sees all. She stops folding his clothes and turns to face him. Oh, great, the smirk and raised eyebrow combination. “Just good? Dinner with James is just good?”

“Yeah. Good.” His mum says nothing, but Harry feels the weight of her eyes and fights to keep the grin off his face. Dinner with James - and now his mind is whirring with images of candlelit dinners in expensive restaurants and home cooked meals followed by kissing and— The blush on his face darkens. There’s no way his mum doesn’t know what he’s thinking about.

She grins in victory. “I’m glad the two of you made up. He’s very sweet to you.”

“I know. And it was mostly me making it up to him. Dad was trying to keep me away from him, but it’s done the opposite. With everything James told me, I feel so much closer to him now. I know I should be appalled at some of the things he’s done but instead I just like him even more for them.”

“So you like him, then.”

“Mum, this is weird. Can we not do this?”

“Harry, I missed out on four years of your life, I barely knew anything that went on your life. I’m not making the same mistake again. So… You like him?”

Harry sighed. This whole ordeal has been hard on everyone - him, his mum, James, his dad, the list goes on. He has to remember that. And it’s not like talking to his mum about who he fancies is the worst thing in the world - in fact, he’d have appreciated this while at school, having someone he could talk to about his feelings and sexuality.

“Yeah, mum. I like him. I fancy him, so bad. Is that bad?”

“No, sweetheart, of course it’s not.” She pulls him into her arms. Harry hugs her back tightly - the novelty of his mum’s hugs will never grow old. “Just as long as you aren’t pushing yourself to feel something out of a sense of obligation. Don’t feel like you have to like him like that just because he’s being nice to you. Your feelings are your own, and no one can dictate what they should be.”

“I’m not, mum. It’s not like that.”

“Good. Then everything’s good.”

After a moment, Harry speaks up, “Who was James to me before? Was he my fiancee?”

Tessa’s grip tightens, and that’s all the answer Harry needs. But it’s also a gateway to so many questions. Who actually was his fiancee? Why haven’t they been to see him? Why wasn’t James the man he was marrying?


	20. Chapter 20

“Dad, stop. You’ll burn it.” Romeo shoves his dad away from the hob and takes over cooking dinner. “You don’t want to serve Harry burnt food, do you?” He knows his dad wants this to be perfect, and he’ll be damned if it doesn’t go to plan.

James takes a swig of his drink just to have something to with his hands. Romeo can see the tremors in them and the way he keeps taking deep, shaking breaths. It’s makes Romeo nervous seeing his dad so nervous - he can’t begin to understand how it must feel, having Harry in his home again. Not to mention the whole amnesia thing.

“Thank you, Romeo.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

James takes it upon himself to set the table for four. He had decided to forgo the candles and ambience in favour of a light and bright dinner. Romeo’s glad. As much as he adores his dad and his maybe, sort of, once upon a time, boyfriend, he doesn’t want to watch them moon at each other over a romantic table setting.

“When will they be here?” Romeo asks, taking the sauce off the heat and stirring in the pasta.

James checks his phone, “They’ve just parked behind the Dog. They’ll be here any second.” He looked frantically around the flat for anything out of place. He shifts a plant pot an inch to the left, then moves it half an inch back.

His dad decides everything is perfect just as someone knocks on the door - Tessa and Harry. He opens it with a smile, and Romeo can see the exact moment all the tension disappears from his dad’s shoulders at the sight of Harry.

“Come on in.” James steps aside to let them through, and like the gentleman he is, takes their coats from them and hangs them up. Harry blushes, which Romeo notes, when his dad brushes his hand over Harry’s shoulder. God, they’re not even that subtle, they’re just oblivious.

Romeo plates up the pasta, and Tessa helps take it to the table. They share a wink and a smirk. Harry is busy looking around the flat, with James shadowing him.

“This place is nice. Not exactly what I thought your place would look like, but it actually suits you.”

“Well, interior design is one of my mother’s hobbies, so she designed it, but I like to think I’ve left my mark.”

Harry runs his fingertips along the spines of the multitude of books on the shelves, making little humming noises when he finds one that he knows.

“Come on, you two,” calls Tessa, “Dinner.”

Sheepishly, like little children, Harry and James take their seats opposite each other. At first they merely eat, and complement the chefs on their incredible work. It turns out James had made Harry’s favourite food, probably on purpose, and the revelation caused both men to blush.

“So, James, Romeo, what’s the village gossip. I must know everything.”

“Well, there’s everything with Ollie and Buster - but that’s really dinner conversation.” James starts. “I can’t really think of anything. Everyone’s been pretty focused on cleaning up the village.”

Romeo understand this dad’s lack of inspiration. They’ve both been spending most days in the hospital with Harry. But he can think of a few things. “I heard Joel was becoming a priest again.”

“Who’s Joel?” asks Harry.

“He was a priest, but gave it up to marry a girl you used to know. But she had some problems and they broke up. Now he’s becoming a priest again.” James summarising neatly, Harry nods along.

“What was her name? The girl I used to know.”

“Cleo McQueen.” Harry shakes his head. Nothing. Maybe talking about people Harry has forgotten isn’t their best idea. Romeo shares a look with his dad and Tessa.

Tessa pipes up, “Romeo, how’s things with that girl, Lily? Is James going have to give her the speech - hurt my son and I’ll kill you?”

Nope. This conversation took a bad turn. Go back to pointless gossip. Why did he agree to change the subject? Ugh, now he has to talk about the complete mess he’s made of everything.

“Alright, who’s Lily?” Harry has to ask again.

“Lily McQueen—”

“Another McQueen?”

“They’re a big family.” Tessa adds.

“Yeah, but she married in,” There is no way Romeo is going to let someone else tell his story - even if he doesn’t want to talk about it at all. “She’s your step-mum Diane’s niece, and she married this guy, Prince McQueen. He’s completely immature and she’s too smart for him. He’s a window washer for Christ’s sake!”

“And you fancy her.” Says Harry. Why can it always be reduced to one sentence. Romeo sighs and pokes at the remains of his dinner. He shakes his head slightly, and out of the corner of his eye he sees the moment Harry works it out. “Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

“And where did you read that, in a fortune cookie? It’s frustrating because she’s adamant that Prince is the one for her, that she’ll spend the rest of her life with him. But I just know that she can do better - even if it’s not me.”

“No, I get it. But you can’t force her to do anything. You just need to show her that you are right for her - if, indeed, you are - and let her come to the realisation herself. Put your best foot forward and she’ll come to you.”

“Yeah, thanks.” That’s what Romeo’s been trying to do - show Lily that she deserves better than some uneducated window cleaner with no manners and zero interest in her life. She could do so much better if only she hadn’t gotten married at eighteen.

“She’s a bit young to be married. Though, I guess everyone’s young compared to me. The eternal spinster.” Tessa scoffs and finishes her wine. Romeo can’t tell if she’s bitter or just judgemental. “Shall I help you wash up?”

James nods and together they clear the table, and start washing up the mess Romeo and his dad made while cooking. Romeo turns to Harry, “You like footy, right?”

*

James puts the final plate back in the cupboard as Tessa wipes down the surfaces. Looking over at the living room, he can’t help but smile as Romeo and Harry argue lightly over some football match or something. He can never get into it, so he’s glad Romeo has someone he can talk to about it, and that Harry does too.

“Thank you for your help, Tessa.”

“Oh, nonsense. It’s nothing. Tonight was lovely, James.”

“My pleasure. You and Harry are always welcome.”

James can’t help his gaze drifting to the young man sat so casually on his sofa. He had thought he would never see Harry sat there again, not after the wedding fiasco, but here he is. Sinking into the cushions, so comfortable it looks like he was made to sit there. To be in this flat.

“He looks happier.” Tessa notes, her voice barely more than a whisper. “More innocent than I ever remember him being.”

“I know. You know, as much as I want him to remember what we had, I don’t want him to have everything else that comes with it. The pain and the hatred and the anger.”

“Everything will work out. It’s like Harry said - if it’s meant to be, it will be.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, again, guys! I'm so grateful for all of you taking time out of your lives to read this fic and to keep reading it. Your support means everything to me.
> 
> Now, I've had to add extra tags for this chapter, so please heed them and don't read if you think this may be triggering. I do not mean to cause anyone harm or offence. I'm sorry if the things in this chapter seem unrealistic, either too much or too little. Please, don't read if you are not comfortable with prostitution, implications of rape/non-con, or violent assault.
> 
> Thanks so much, guys x

Harry feels a surge of pride as he walks unaided down the high street with his mum hovering beside him. He knows she’s scared he’s not strong enough after how weak he was during the first walk they took, but he’s fine now. He’s stronger and healthier and happier. His memory is still fucked, but he’s okay with that now. He doesn’t need the past four years of life, so long as he has his future.

“Mum?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Did I go to university? I mean, I’m twenty, right, so I must’ve been at uni for two years now. Did I do English? Because that was always my plan.”

Tessa hesitates, and Harry groans internally. Why is it that nothing seems to have gone to plan? He had it all mapped out: do well in his A-Levels, get an English degree from a decent university, maybe go into teaching or whatever caught his fancy while at uni, then the rest would happen by itself. Find a nice guy, settle down, start a family. Apparently life sucks.

“I think it’s safe to say you went. And yes, you were doing English. But events at home meant you stopped attending lectures and failed several modules, and you had to drop out.”

“I failed! How did I fail? That sounds nothing like me.” It feels like the bottom has dropped out of his stomach. Failed? No. No, that just won’t do.

“Do you think I could apply again?”

Tessa stopped their walk and turned to face him. “You want to go back to uni?”

“Well, technically, I’ve never been. It’s an experience I always kind of counted on having. I want to get my life back on track and uni seems like a good place to go to do that.” He pauses, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. It’s your life, Harry, and if this is what you want to do then I’ll be behind you one hundred percent. But we should probably go through the forms together. There might be a few things we need to go over.”

“Okay.” Harry couldn’t contain his burst of excitement. He feels like a giddy school kid.

“You know,” His mum starts, “You did get a scholarship to a university in California.”

“What? You mean, California, America?”

“What other California’s do you know?”

“Well, then why am I still in England and not sunning myself on some beach somewhere? Wait, don’t tell me. That was the uni I dropped out of.”

“Not quite. You didn’t accept the place.” The sadness in his mum’s voice tells him it wasn’t her decision, and definitely not one she agrees with.

“Why not?” He afraid to ask. Either because he knows he won’t get an answer, or because he will and it will be another thing he doesn’t understand. The more he learns about the past few years the more convinced he is that the Harry everyone knows is a completely different person to who he actually is. Maybe it’s an alien abduction? Or magic? It’s more believable than that he actually did any of this shit.

“There were things at home you felt were more important. But none of that matters now - we can start looking tonight, and see if we can’t get you a place.”

The excitement is back, and Harry wastes no time searching for course online the second they return home.

*

“Right, next question. Do I have a criminal conviction?”

Harry is sat at James’ dining table, laptop at the ready, slowly making his way through a university application. It should’ve taken him half an hour maximum, but he has to keep asking his family about everything. Hopefully this question should be simple.

“Yes.”

Harry’s jaw drops at James’ answer. He looks up at the man, who looks appropriately awkward leaning against the counter. His mum, too, and Romeo, look shifty.

“What did I do?”

They stay silent, and Harry swears he did not almost growl in frustration. This is so fucking alien!

“Come on, I need to know in case the ask me about it. And that’s if they’ll even give me an interview.”

“I don’t think you want to know, Harry.” James gives him those damn adorable puppy-dog eyes and Harry almost caves to what he wants. But, no. He has to know.

“James. You swore total honesty. Tell me? Please.”

A cold chill sweeps down Harry’s spine as James looks away - “Soliciting, and assault.” - No. Scratch that. It’s a bucket of icy water, and it so painful. Dear God, who was taking over his body all this time? He feels sick.

“Who did I attack?” Harry can’t look at them. God, how can they even look at him? No wonder his dad hates him. Having a violent offender for a son. No wonder he didn’t bring his siblings to see him. Harry wouldn’t if he had kids. Oh, God - what if he has kids?

“Who did I assault? I need to know, I need to apologise to them!”

“I’m afraid you can’t, Harry.” It’s his mum now. Harry chances a look up, and sees the sadness and pity welling in his mother’s eyes. “She died. But, not because of you. You need to know that, Harry. Her death is not your fault. She was killed by someone else.”

Okay… So he assaulted a woman. She was probably defenceless, she might have pleaded and fought him. But he won’t know. He won’t know why he even did it, and he won’t be able to apologise to her. Okay.. so he did that.

And he… he was a… a prostitute. He slept with people for money - men most likely. How could he do that? To himself? It’s so… demeaning. Disgusting. How did he ever get to that point?

His mind starts to run away with him. The realisation that he is about as far from a virgin as it’s possible for one person to be - he knew he wasn’t, given the whole fiancee thing, and he know she may never remember his first time - and isn’t that a bummer, the first time is meant to be special, isn’t it? But the thought of people paying for him, like he’s some sort of sex object. Something to be used and abused. Pushed up against the wall of a back alley or on some grotty mattress. So many hands on him, pushing and shoving and pulling and restraining. Dark bruises flowering across expenses of pale, malnourished skin when he didn’t like what was happening to him. The money shoved at him, thrown onto his prone body lying on the floor, or stolen from his pockets when he’s too out of it to do anything.

Oh, God. He can’t breathe. There’s not enough air. Not between him and the bodies pressed too close against him. The lips sucking marks onto his neck and chest, the hands roaming ever lower and lower. Stop! Stop, please. They don’t listen. The hands on his jaw, pulling his hair, controlling his every movement like a puppet on a string. No, no. Stop!

“Harry? Harry, can you hear me?”

Harry pulls away from the kind and calming voice. It’s so out of place with what he feels going on around him. That voice doesn’t belong in a dirty alley with him.

“Harry, please. It’s going to be okay.”

He knows that voice. It really doesn’t belong. The dapper suits and impeccable taste would be ruined after five seconds with Harry. He doesn’t deserve the softness in that voice, the promises that everything really will be okay. But, oh, he wants it so badly.

“Please, let me help, Harry.”

Harry slowly gives in. He guesses the other man isn’t going away, and really… would it be so bad if he gave in? It can’t hurt… can it?

Slowly, like swimming through a pool of tar, Harry becomes aware of his surroundings. The hands on him have gone, and the sick feeling of being manipulated to someone else’s desires with it. But the dirt has sunken into his bones - he needs a shower. He needs to be clean again.

He’s aware, now, that he’s no longer sitting at the table. He’s curled into a ball on the floor, back to the corner, and his mum and James are a metre away watching him closely. Oh, what must they think of him? Not just of this pathetic meltdown, but knowing what he’s done? How he’s humiliated and debased himself.

“Harry?” His mum asked. He can’t look her in the eye. He stares at his hands. Ugh, knowing what his hands have done. What all of him has done. “You remembered something, didn’t you?”

Harry clears his throat, but still can’t look at them. “At least I didn’t pass out this time. Or seize.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry? Mentally and physically.” James’ concern makes Harry feel sick. He doesn’t deserve that. The memories of his dad’s words make a little more sense now - he’s worse than an animal, not capable of love. Not after selling himself and attacking a poor, defenceless woman.

“We’re by your side, Harry, no matter what you think. I know what you’ve just remembered must be traumatic, either about Amy or the prostitution or the homelessness, but we’re still here for you. Remember we know about it, too. We knew about it before you remembered, and we still love you. We care for you so much, and we won’t abandon you. Not ever. You’ll have to try a lot harder to get rid of us.” His mum pleads, tears in her eyes.

Harry lifts his eyes slightly, and the corners of his mouth pull downwards. Tessie surges forward and scoops him up into her arms. She shushes him and strokes his hair like she did when he was a lot younger and took up less space in her arms. She kisses his cheek and erases every lingering trace of the men he remembers. He still needs to shower though, but he doesn’t think he’ll scrub his skin raw.

He looks over his mother’s shoulder at James. Sweet, impossible James, who still looks at him with cow eyes and a soft smile, despite everything. He still looks at him like he hangs the moon and stars, and turns day into night. Harry knows he looks exactly the same, but he’s too tired to hide it anymore. This man has been incredible, and so much better than Harry deserves, and Harry is going to make the most of the time he has with him.

There is no point in dwelling on the past. He isn’t in prison now. And he isn’t selling himself anymore. All of that, the pain and self-hatred, they belong to pre-tree-attack Harry. He is the new and improved, post-tree-attack-amnesiac Harry. And this Harry, is going to make the most of life.

So, he untangles himself from his mother, promises to go to see Farrah about everything and actually means it, sits back down at the table and checks the box for criminal convictions. He takes the hot chocolate James makes for him, giving him the most loving smile he can muster. He resumes the rest of the application, thinking ahead to the future he might just be able to have.

One thing is for sure, he has one hell of a topic for his personal statement.


	22. Chapter 22

Lily!” Romeo shouts, already jogging to catch the girl before she slips into the hospital. He can already see that she’s planning to ignore him. So he spurs his legs on faster, “Lily, wait!” 

She stops, shoulders tense, arms folded across her chest. She’s giving him that look, that tells him to start begging on his knees because she’s not going to do anything. “What do you want?” 

Romeo catches his breath and clenches his fists by his side. “I want to say I’m sorry. For the I way I acted before and got angry - it’s not your fault and I shouldn’t have blamed you. Things have been a whirlwind these past few weeks and I needed to vent. I shouldn’t have taken everything out at you. I’ve hated not being around you - and Prince - since then, and I just want things to at least go back to the way they were before. Please?” 

Romeo could see her soften with every word, a small smile tugging at corner of her lips. Butterflies flutter in his stomach. “Oh, Romeo. I’ve missed you too. And you were right, actually. I never made an effort to visit Harry, even when I knew no one else was. I should’ve done something. I’m sorry, too.” 

Romeo hold out his hand, hoping it’s not noticeably clammy, “Truce?” She grins and shakes it, doing that cute little blushing head tilt of hers. He pulls back before it becomes awkward, and quickly rummages in his bag for one of the real reason she came here. 

“Here. I got you this. As an apology, and ‘cause I saw it and thought of you.” Thankfully, his hands aren’t shaking as he holds out a hardback book, in a beautiful back and gold cover. A collection of Lord Byron’s works, which he knows Lily doesn’t have yet. 

Lily takes it reverently in her hands, mouth agape at the beauty of it. Romeo’s heart swells. Yes! This is what he wanted. A step in the right direction. He continues to stare at her beauty while she stares at the book. 

Until she ruins the moment by shaking her head, “I can’t take this. It’s too much. How much did it cost? I know you don’t have much money to spare. And besides, you can’t just give me gifts because you want to, you aren’t my boyfriend or my husband.” She tries to and it back, but Romeo puts his hands behind his back. There’s no way he’s taking it back after seeing just how much she loves it. 

“Money isn’t a problem anymore, thanks to my dad. And even if it was, I still would’ve got it for you.” 

“Romeo, I’m married.” 

“I know. But a ring on your finger and your signature on a piece of paper have no bearing on what I feel for you. When I look at you, I see a beautiful, funny, smart young woman, someone I feel a connection with that I have never felt with anyone before. I don’t see what jewellery you wear, or what your last name is. Don’t ask me to stop, because I can’t. Whether or not you feel the same. So, please, take the book, enjoy it and… I’ll be fine.” 

Lily gives a huge sigh, but she tucks the book into her bag, “Okay.” She’s about to say more when she spots Prince bounding towards them, and they both shuffle a few steps away from each other. 

“Romeo! Where have you been, mate?” Prince tugs Romeo into a hug. It hurts somewhere inside Romeo to know that he could be ruining one of the best relationships he’s ever had with Prince, over a girl. Sure, it’s Lily, and she’s amazing, but Prince has been incredible. A one of a kind guy. 

“Just around.” He answers, pulling away from Prince with a smile. “Getting to know my dad after sixteen years.” 

“Oh, right.” Romeo notes the sour tone, but doesn’t bring it up. What’s the point? Nearly everyone in the village has the same view of his dad, and if he reprimanded every one of them, he’d have no time for everything else. And besides, they’d never listen to him. So, he ignores Prince’s opinion, and changes the topic. 

“Sorry I haven’t been around? How are things with you? Spoken to Hunter much?” 

“Oh, yeah. He’s doing great in Bristol with Asha - their flat looks well mint!” 

“But not better than ours.” Lily chimes in, and the two come together for a sweet kiss. Romeo looks away. 

“Hey, um. I’ve actually got to go - meeting up with Harry.” Romeo backs away, smile still in place. 

“Yeah, okay. Tell I asked how he is, yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

Lily kisses Prince one more time before heading into the hospital for work, and Romeo turns away, quickly shooting a text to Harry asking if he’s free to talk. Surprisingly, his dad’s maybe boyfriend is actually a pretty good mate.


	23. Chapter 23

“Darling, please. You have to understand; it was for your own good.” 

“Mother. I don’t have to understand anything. Not if I don’t want to. You kept my son away from me for sixteen years, so I think you can handle being kept away for at least half of that.” James strides away from his mother, fighting not to start a blazing row in the middle of the village. He groans as he hears her heels clicking furiously behind him. 

She screeches, “You can’t keep running away from me forever. I am your mother!” 

James stops dead and Marnie nearly ploughs into him, “And I am Romeo’s father. There is nothing in the world that can change that. So if I want you to stay out of our lives, then you will. Because as you so neatly put it - I have his best interest at heart!” 

“Why do you even care about him? You can’t stand children. You never expressed any desire to be a father before now. What has he got on you?” 

James doesn’t even recognise his mother as he looks at her. Not just because she looks so exhausted and worn down from staying with the McQueens for the past few weeks. The mother he knew from his childhood and adolescence would have at least never dared to say such a thing to him – to insult someone he cares about. And yet, recently, she has been doing just that. To both Romeo and Harry. 

“My son is not blackmailing me, if that’s what you’re thinking. And while most children are disgusting balls of mucus and vomit, my child is not. Now, leave us alone.” 

He turns to head home – he has a lot of case files to review before he and Romeo can sit down for a family meal – when Marnie’s hand shoots out and grabs his elbow. “How can you stand to look at him knowing how he came into the world? What your father did? How can you stand it?” 

James swallows hard. It has been a ball of contention in their little family. Romeo fearing his father will hate to look at him and will push away any chance of being a proper family in future because it all just got too much. James under the firm belief that the circumstances of one’s birth have no bearing on who you are as a person. Not if you don’t want it to be. 

“Mother... Plenty of women in the world raise children born of rape. They may be reminded of what they went through but seeing how incredible their children are is enough to make all that pain worth it. They can move past it and love their children. It is no different for me. I may never be able to look at his mother without being that terrified sixteen-year-old boy again, but when I look at my son I see an incredible young man with so much potential, who wants me to be his father.” He pulls himself out of her grip, “Stay out of our lives, Marnie.” 

She makes a choked off noise, like a wounded deer, and scurries off. James sighs and begins the walk home. 

“James?” 

The smile that brightens up James’ face is involuntary, but very much welcome. He moves slightly to allow Harry to walk beside him. “How are you?” 

“I should be asking you that. Sounded like a pretty heated argument with your mum.” Harry looks nervously up at James, probably scared he’ll say the wrong thing. He is adorable sometimes. 

“It wasn’t heated. We were barely shouting.” 

“Yeah, but it was intense, which for you is almost like shouting. What was it about?” 

James is glad Harry is here. He’s not keen on telling Romeo about the argument, he’ll probably think he’s a nuisance and getting in the way of a longstanding relationship and try to leave. Which neither of them really wants. 

“My mother wants to be part of mine and Romeo’s life. I won’t allow it – not after she knew about him and kept it from me. Neither me nor Romeo need that right now.” 

Harry coughs, and looks down at his shoes, “Well, you’re not really allowed to speak for what Romeo wants.” 

“What?” 

“No, no. I don’t mean any offence. It’s just, that’s exactly what your mum did. She made decisions about your son without consulting you, and now you’re making decisions about Romeo without consulting him. He is the only person who can say what he wants. He might agree with you, but he also might not. He deserves a chance to get to know his grandmother.” 

“When did you get so wise, Harry?” 

“Beats me.” 

“Thank you, Harry. I’ll talk to Romeo.” James has to leave Harry here, their journeys home diverging. But how to say goodbye? A hug? A kiss? A handshake? Nothing? James is sure he looks like an idiot deliberating here. 

Before he can make his decision, Harry has lifted himself up onto his toes and pressed a kiss to James’ lightly stubbled cheek. The bristles are not enough to hide his blush. Harry grins victoriously. 

As he skips away down the road, he turns back, “Oh, and ask Romeo how things are with Lily. He could use some fatherly advice.” 

James stares at Harry's retreating form for far longer than appropriate, but eventually manages to stumble home. His mind still on the kiss.


	24. Chapter 24

Tessa smiles warmly at James as they pass in the coffee shop – she would stop and talk but she can see the mountain of files tucked under his arm and the stress clawing at his face, so she lets him go – and moves forward in line to order. Well, she would, were it not for the platinum blonde she-demon currently screeching in her face.

Unamused, she waits patiently for the tirade to end, before pinning the woman with the raise of a well-plucked eyebrow. “Are you done?”

The woman huffs, and Tessa takes her in. Fancy, sophisticated sense of style; on the older end of the spectrum; those piercing eyes. Then it clicks – this is James’ mother, Marnie Nightingale. She smiles, suddenly with all the patience in the world.

“It’s Marnie, isn’t it? How can I help?”

“I’d like to know what your business is with my son.” Marnie practically trembles in nerves and anticipation, and Tessa takes her by the elbow and guides her out of the coffee shop. It wouldn’t do to have that nosey parker Scott hear their conversation; it’d be the hottest village gossip by tea time.

“Look, Marnie. I’m sure you’re aware of the relationship between our sons. I’m merely getting to know my son’s potential boyfriend.”

“You’re Harry Thompson’s mother?” Marnie sounds aghast, outraged. She does a double-take and looks Tessa up and down, then again. Tessa is tempted to a little twirl for the other woman.

“Yes, I am. Tessie Thompson.” She holds out her hand, and Marnie shakes it in a daze.

“But- but-”

“But, what, Marnie?”

“But... His father’s Tony Hutchinson. He’s so... And you’re so... How?”

Tessie laughs, “I do hope this is meant to be a compliment.”

“Well, yes. But why would you ever sleep with Tony?”

“Why did you sleep with Mac? And marry him? I wasn’t stupid enough to marry Tony.”

“Point taken. How is Harry, by the way?”

Tessie takes a seat at one of the picnic tables, and gestures for Marnie to sit too. She does, after a brief sweep of the seat.

“He’s doing okay with his family by his side.”

Marnie scoffs, “I didn’t think Tony and the others counted Harry as family after what he did – sleeping with my son and all.” 

“He doesn’t. By family, I meant myself, James and Romeo. That’s how I've gotten close to your son, and your grandson – we've all bonded these past few weeks.” 

There’s a pause, in which Marnie seems to pout. Tessa already knows that this is a woman used to getting what she wants. “You know, you could be part of our little family, if you wanted.” 

Marnie rolls her eyes, “I doubt James would like that. He hates me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just temporarily pissed at you. And that is easily fixed.” 

“How?” 

“By apologising.” Duh. 

By the look on Marnie’s face, it’s not likely this woman has much practice with that. Well, it sucks to be her. 

“Do you know what you’ve done wrong? To make James feel this way? It’s not because you paid off the mother of his child, and it’s not because you lied. Sure, he might have been annoyed about them at first, but he would’ve gotten over them with a bit of time to think. No, it’s because you aren’t trying to be a part of his life, anymore.” 

“What? No! I am trying. See this, this is me trying. I want to be his mother again, I want him ot be my darling boy.” 

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it. Because even if he let you in, let you move back into the flat, you will never be a part of his family until you accept the rest of his family.” This is like spoon-feeding a reluctant toddler. “Do you know what you need to do?” 

“I need to accept Romeo.” 

Finally, “Exactly. Make things right with Romeo, and make an actual effort, then James will see how much you want this and let you back into his life.” 

“Will that really work?” 

“It worked for me.” Marnie shoots her a skeptical look, “I was never the best mum to Harry. I tried so hard, and for a while everything was great. Until he went to boarding school, then moved here. We grew distant and I missed out on so much with him. But now, I am making the biggest effort I can to be a part of my son’s life. I’m even thinking of moving back to this shitty village, just so we can stay together. I’m not going to regret it, and neither will you. What you will regret, however, is letting this chance slip you by.” 

“Thank you, Tessie.” 

“You’re very welcome, Marnie. Now, how about I buy you a coffee, and we can share embarrassing stories about our sons.” They share a grin, and head back in to the coffee shop practically arm in arm.


	25. Chapter 25

Things have been going remarkably well for Harry recently. He has the draft of his personal statement all written out and ready to review – the tale of a young man with amnesia eager to start a new life out of the dark shadows of the past four years; it sounds like the plot of a tacky action movie, though maybe it could be a rom-com. And besides from the annoyingly ever-present feeling of déjà vu, Harry has adjusted well. 

Sure, people wave at him in the streets and ask how he is, and he just has to stare blankly at them either until they realise that he doesn’t know them, or until he can find a polite way of saying it. He's yet to find a polite way that doesn't make him feel like a dick for not knowing them, but this is his reality now and he and everyone else will have to get used to it. 

Like now. When he sees his father coming out of Price Slice, eyes immediately locking onto him. And, oh great, now he’s heading toward him. Abort! Abort! 

“Harry. I didn’t know you were discharged. Are you all better now?” And doesn’t that sound like a man used to conversing with his five-year-old children. Harry’s memories are stubborn bitches and he just had a panic attack two days ago when he remembered he was a prostitute for over a year. So, no, daddy, the doctors did not kiss it all better. 

“I’m doing as well as can be expected. How are you? And Diane and the kids?” 

“Oh, it’s the greatest news, Harry! Dee Dee’s treatment has worked, she’s in complete recovery now. But, I know, I know, it’s a long and hard road to her being her old self, but we’ll all be right there with her. Did I tell you that me, Diane and Tegan are going to co-parent the girls – after what that James did. It’s not right, dropping such a bomb on little kids like that, and after what they’ve all been through.” 

Harry clasps his hands behind his back, playing with his fingers. How can his dad not hear it? The hypocrisy! “You’re right. That is great news. But, what do you mean co-parent? I don’t understand.” 

Tony’s face falls, “Oh, you still don’t remember. Well, there was a mix up at the hospital when Dee Dee and Rose were born, and they got swapped. The three of use decided to keep the girls we were given when we found out, but this seems like a better decision now.” 

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re all happy.” 

“So happy, Harry! These past few months have been terrible, but now, we can finally see the sun. All the support we’ve got is incredible. I'm not quite sure if we’ll finish off the lasagnas people have been giving us, but Ste and the kids might be able to. And he’s been a Godsend, as well. Say, Harry? Have you spoken to Ste at all?” 

This is an important question. Harry can tell. It’s weighted, and his response will make or break this conversation. But he can’t lie. Tony will see right through him, and one question to this Ste guy and it will all unravel. Harry braces for the inevitable blow out. 

“Um, no. I haven’t. I’m not quite sure who he is actually.” 

“Typical.” Harry winces, “I bet that James has something to do with that. I hope you’re staying away from him – he's bad news. I did try to tell you in the hospital, but... Just talk to Ste, too, okay. It might be the key to getting your memories back.” 

Harry nods numbly. Whatever you say, dad. “Look, I've got to go. I was going to meet mum for dinner.” 

“Yeah, alright. I’ve got to go help Leela and Tegan set up for Rose’s birthday party.” Tony holds up the shopping bag, and through the flimsy white plastic, Harry can make out the hard edges of a cake box and a packet of balloons. “The cake’s just in case Leela’s attempt at lemon drizzle goes badly.” With a grin and a chuckle, Tony skips off up the steps to the flat, and Harry turns around and dashes out of the village. 

* 

There’s a frantic knocking at James’ door, and he eagerly abandons the absolute mammoth workload on the dinner table to open it. A little spark of hope in his heart says it might be Harry on the other side. James can’t wait for the day when Harry has his own key again and can barge in without knocking. 

He opens the door to find a red eyed Harry hunched on his doorstep. James suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to murder whoever made him feel like this. He has an idea of where to go first. 

“Harry?” 

Harry look up at him, wringing his hands tightly together. It’s reminiscent of his constant toying with the blankets in hospital. He's scared, and nervous. “Can I come in?” His voice is so small. Everything about him screams small. 

“Of course.” James steps aside, closing the door quietly behind his guest, and heads to the kitchen to make a hot chocolate. Harry seemed to appreciate the brew the last time he was here, after the panic attack. “Do you want whipped cream with your hot chocolate?” 

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine. I don’t even know why I'm here.” Harry sits down hesitantly, before sinking into the sofa cushions with a sigh. 

“You’re not fine, Harry. I can see that. Clearly there’s something you need to talk about.” James is wary of simply demanding to know outright – that's a stupid idea and never goes well for anyone. 

“See? That, that right there, is the problem.” Harry turns in his seat to stare at James. James whose lungs have ceased operations. Was there something wrong with him? Did Harry suddenly see sense and realised that James really is a despicable human being? “How come you can tell when I'm not okay, and my own dad can’t?” 

James lets out a sigh, just as the microwave pings. He takes out the mugs and continues making their drinks. 

So, Harry had a run in with his father. No wonder he looks so worn out. It must have been a chore. James carefully carries the drinks out of the kitchen and sit down next to Harry. 

The other man looks curiously at him over the spiral of cream floating on his drink. “Well?” 

“Well, Harry. Sometimes, your family aren’t what you want them to be. There’s no denying it, there’s no explaining it. It just is. But you can’t dwell on it. Just because your dad can’t see who you are now, and how much you’re hurting, doesn’t mean others don’t.” 

“Like you. You see me.” 

“I do. You have to make your own family, one that is full of people who appreciate you and who you appreciate. You know the saying ‘blood is thicker than water’, well at first it appears as if you should put your family before anything else. But the real saying is the opposite: ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’. I’m sure a smart guy like you can figure out what it really means.” 

“The family you choose over the family you were born into.” A smile lights up Harry’s face, and pride blossoms in James’ chest. He put that smile there, he made Harry happy and eased his worries. Hopefully, this won’t be the last time. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” 

“You just want to get out of doing your paperwork.” Harry jokes with a gesture at the files scattered all around the room. 

“Not just that. I care about you, Harry, and I want to know your problems, so I can help you to at least share the burden.” 

Harry hesitates, “I ran into my dad. He was going on about how well Dee Dee was recovering, and I know I should be happy for her, but all I could think about was why was she so much more important than me. I still have a long road of recovery ahead of me, yet she gets all of his time and attention. I’m jealous of a five-year-old! It’s so stupid.” 

James reaches out for Harry’s hand, and holds it tight. “It’s not stupid, Harry. Your feelings are not stupid – they are valid. You are allowed to feel whatever you want. If you want to scream and kick, then do it. If you want to be jealous of a kid, do it. You don’t have to censor yourself because of other people.” 

“I just don’t understand why I'm not enough for him. Is it just because I don’t remember? Or because I'm gay? Or because I dropped out of uni? I don’t get why he doesn't want to be around me unless I'm back to normal and ignoring you. I’m also at a complete loss as to why everyone in this village is so determined not to give you a second chance. From what I can tell, everyone gets one but you.” 

“It’s complicated, Harry.” 

“I’m not a child. And we swore total honesty with each other.” 

“People are hypocrites. They don’t give out second chances indiscriminately. They have their prejudices and unfortunately, I never made a good enough first impression to warrant getting in anyone good graces.” 

“People are idiots.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” James brings his mug to Harry’s in a silly little cheers motion, and is delighted when Harry laughs, then starts to yawn. “Long day?” 

“Just emotionally draining.” Harry slouches back on the sofa, resting his head close to James’ shoulder. “I’m too tired to move.” 

“Then don’t. You can stay as long as you need to. I’ll let Tessa know where you are in case she worries.” 

“I might fall asleep. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” 

“You can sleep in my bed, and I'll take the sofa. Don’t worry.” 

The smile Harry gives him is worth the aches a night on the sofa will give him. And when Harry’s head lolls onto James’ shoulder proper halfway through Countdown reruns, James is more than happy to let him use his body as a pillow. 

The sun sets, and James messages Tessa to let her know the situation. He shifts delicately, so as not to dislodge his sleeping houseguest, and carries the dead weight into the bedroom. He removes only what is appropriate – shoes and jacket – and tucks the duvet in around him. If he casts a longing glance back on his way back into the living room, well, it’s nobody else’s business.


	26. Chapter 26

Harry moans as he shifts in the warm embrace of the duvet; it feels like floating on clouds or drifting down a river of pure silk. The mattress gently cushions his body and the pillows have a dent made just for his head. This bed was made for him, or, more likely, has been molded to him. Oh, how he’s missed this bed. 

No. Wait. That's not right. Harry has never slept in a bed like this – so expensive and luxurious. But it feels like coming home, lying in this bed. So comfortable and familiar. All that’s missing is – 

James. 

Harry shoots up, heart pounding. Has he slept in this bed before? Yes, the answer seems clear. But this is James’ bed, and as far as Harry is aware, he’s never slept with James. 

It hits him like a tidal wave and he falls back against the pillows. Their first night together; Harry taking James hand as he leads to the bedroom, where all of his confidence fails him, and James lovingly coaching him through the night. Harry feels there’s something odd about that night – like there's something he was forgetting, or someone. It’s not until he fast forwards to the morning after, and the brown envelope full of money and the name ‘Ste’ that it clicks. He was the man James paid for sex, and he had a boyfriend at the time. The ever-elusive Ste he is still yet to re-meet. 

The remnants of an argument flood Harry’s mind next, then suddenly he feels the echoes of James’ lips on his – something that has been invading his dreams in recent nights – and perhaps something more which makes his heart race and his whole body sweat. That night, however, is followed by pain and anguish, and Harry is glad that those are not the memories he is remembering. Vague flashes of emotion are bad enough. 

A God-awful Christmas jumper, bruised ribs and another night with James. It’s bittersweet; tears and emotions running high, and it’s everything Harry has thought it would be. 

These memories feel more recent. Nights and days, afternoons and breakfasts, starting with some of the best sex Harry has ever had, followed increasingly often by deep and meaningful conversations about everything and nothing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knows that he always left to be with someone else. This was an affair. He was having an affair with James behind his fiancée's back. 

Now it makes sense why his dad was so pissed, when he asked if James was his fiancée. Clearly whoever this Ste guy was, he was who Harry was supposed to be marrying that day in the storm, and obviously his family would be on Ste’s side and not James’. Of course, they’d be furious at Harry for betraying his fiancée like that, for what seems like months, or may have even been years. Now he knows why none of them want anything to do with him, amnesia or not. 

What he doesn’t understand is why James is still around? Sure, they were together in everything but name, but Harry still walked down the aisle to someone else, was still prepared to say vows, exchange rings and sign registers. He was such a coward. Too scared to disobey his family – because there’s really no other explanation than that he would lose his family if he chose what he wanted. But it shouldn't have been a question. His family are a pile of shit, and James is too good a man for Harry. 

Harry slips out of the covers, and finds his shoes and jacket laid out neatly beside the bed. And isn’t that just James’ way – neat and tidy, organised to a tee. Except when in the heat of the moment. The thought makes Harry blush furiously. 

Just as Harry is about to open the bedroom door and leave, it opens and James steps in hesitantly. “I heard you moving about. Took a gander that you were awake and getting dressed.” 

Harry freezes. What the fuck does he say now? Yes, hello, darling lover of mine. I was just getting dressed and remembering all the times we’ve shagged in this bedroom. And on the sofa. And the living room floor. And the bathroom. Dear, God, his face must be crimson by this point. For all James knows, Harry is still a sixteen-year-old Harry stuck in twenty-year-old Harry’s body, with a few traumatic memories thrown in. Their relationship has completely changed dynamics. They were free of any baggage, but now... Now Harry knows almost every little nuance in their past. Fuck, life is messy. 

“Do you want to join me and Romeo for breakfast?” 

Yes, I would love to join you for breakfast with your teenage son, at the dining table we most definitely did not defile sometime in the last few months. How can he sit through breakfast without blurting this all out? He needs to talk about it to someone, but there’s no easy way of saying this to James. Oh, God, he can’t do this. Abort. 

Harry chokes, stammering out an incomprehensible babble of consonants, before giving up on his excuse. He grabs his jacket and pushes past James. Storms past Romeo in the kitchen, his fingers fumbling embarrassingly on the door handle, before finally, he is out in the fresh air. 

He doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. He knows where he needs to go now. 

* 

Dread creeps up James’ spine as Harry simply stands there, in the middle of his bedroom, jaw agape and choked off words coming out sporadically. He keeps his pleasant smile, just in case Harry needs to adjust to where he is or is just too tired to function. 

But the longer it goes on, the harder it is to believe that. Maybe it’s more than just sleep in his eyes and typical groggy mornings. Perhaps he remembered something while he slept – something connected to James’ apartment, and more specifically, to James’ bed. 

His thoughts are confirmed when Harry suddenly bolts from the apartment and runs out into the village. This is it. James knew it could happen – that it would happen, eventually. So why does it feel like his heart is being crushed by Harry’s own fist. 

It's not like he has never been rejected before, and most of those came from Harry himself. It makes more than enough sense that any memory of their past together would be too much for Harry to handle. 

James plops down on the bed and tries to work out what it could have been. The blackmail? The ten thousand pounds for one night of sex? Any of the harsh words he has said about Harry’s family while they were lying in bed together? The pimping? Thinking back, there is no part of their romance, if it could even be called that, that would be appropriate for retelling. No part of it screams ‘this is totally normal and definitely what healthy relationships look like’. 

“Dad?” Romeo wavers at the door. “Are you okay?” 

James shakes his head. “I knew it was coming, but it still hurts.” 

Romeo sits down beside him, not touching him, thankfully. James doesn't think he could handle that right now. “You knew what was coming?” 

“The rejection. Being back here must have triggered something in his memory. And I don’t blame him for running. If I was in his position, I don’t think I'd want anything to do with what we had. It was... unethical and wrong on so many levels.” 

“No.” Romeo practically shouts it. James finally looks at his son and is surprised at the expression. He looks about ready to go to war. “Despite what happened between you, how you started and everything in between, you loved each other. I know that whatever harry may or may not have remembered, he knows how much you love him, and how much he loved you. It must just be a lot to take in. I bet he didn’t know what to say to you.” 

James shakes his head. It’s too good to be true. To think that Harry could still love him after everything he’s done. It was one thing to think a relationship could start now, a fresh start in which Harry remembered nothing. But now, it will be just like before. It’s just a matter of time before everything else comes back to him and he goes back to Ste and his family and the pressures of being the perfect, prodigal son he wanted to be. 

“Trust me, dad, please. You may not believe me, but you’ll see. Harry isn’t stupid. You can mope all you want, and I'll be right beside you if that’s what you want to do. But, please. Don’t give up without trying. Talk to him, help him understand. Fate and destiny will only do half the work for you, you have to put the effort in. Relationships take effort.” 

James takes a deep, long look at his son. This incredible, smart, stylish young boy is half of him. James won’t even ask how. Romeo has none of James’ defeatist attitude, none of his self-deprecating tendencies. And for that, James is glad. Not just for moments like this, where his son can help to bolster him, but for Romeo himself. He will never be as low as James has been. Not if he can help it. 

He pulls Romeo into an awkward, side hug, but Romeo reciprocates nonetheless. “Thank you.” 

“No worries. Now. Go get your man.”


	27. Chapter 27

Harry’s leg jiggles up and down as he sits on the hard, plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room. He hasn’t been waiting long, but he’s scared that the longer he waits, the memories might disappear, or he might forget the concerns he had about them. 

Finally, the door opens at the end of the hall and Farrah pops her head around and beckons him in. He jumps up, rather too fast if the looks from the other patients is anything to go by, but he simply hurries into Farrah’s office and takes a seat. Thankfully, these seats are nicer than the ones outside. 

“Thanks for seeing me so easily, Farrah. It’s kind of important.” he starts, calming his breathing so he might be able to express himself better. 

“It’s okay, Harry. What is it you needed to speak to me about?” Her posture is so relaxed and open, that Harry tries to mimic her. Leaning comfortably back in the chair, shoulders down and hands in his lap. 

“I remembered something. Something big.” 

“Is this like the episode you experienced a few days ago? When you remembered your criminal history?” 

“No, not quite. I didn’t have a panic attack – at least I don’t think I did. I slept over at James’, because I'd had a run in with my dad and I went to talk to James about it and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I remembered my relationship with James.” He pauses. How explicit can you get with your doctor? When she nods encouragingly, he continues, “I remember him paying me for sex two years ago, and every time we’ve kissed or slept together or even hugged in the past two years since then. All because I slept in his bed. He wasn't even in the room – he slept on the sofa.” 

Farrah nods some more, thinking things over, “Memories can be associated with different things. As you know, words and actions can be triggers, as happened with your dad. But also, the reminder that something happened, or objects and people. Clearly, James’ bed has some significance for you. How do you feel about the memories? Do they make you feel happy, sad, scared?” 

“They’re... nice memories. Everything with James makes me feel nice. Appreciated and loved. It's overwhelming, but I think once I get used to having them there, everything should be fine.” Oh, shit. “Except.” 

“Except what, Harry?” 

“I ran out on him this morning. I didn’t explain anything. I just bolted. God, what must he think?” harry puts his head in his hands, and all possible scenarios whirl through his mind. Every possible nasty thing that James could call him run on a film reel before his eyes. 

“Harry? Harry, look at me. Okay, don’t forget to breathe. You’re in my office, at the hospital. Okay, we were just talking, okay. Can you breathe in for me?” 

Harry follows her doctor babble, and slowly pushes those thoughts out of his head. It’s hard not to worry about what James thinks of him now, especially now that he is aware of just who James is to him. 

Farrah calls his attention, “Harry, don’t think about what other people are thinking. Your mental health comes first, okay. James will understand and so will your family. Now, what do you want to do about James?” 

“I want to talk to him. About everything, I don’t want to keep any secrets from him. I also want to snog his face off.” He and Farrah share a laugh, seriousness defused at last. She’s grinning at him, as if she knows what his next words will be. 

“I think I might love him.” 

* 

Harry skips out of the hospital, feeling lighter than air. Aren’t doctors just great! He takes out his phone and composes a text to James: ‘I’m sorry about before. Can we talk?’ he debates putting a kiss at the end, but he’s not sure if he did that before and if it would be presumptuous of him. James’ opinions of him might have changed after this whole ordeal. 

Though, if the flowers he brought him at the hospital were any indication, they haven't. 

Harry heads into the coffee shop, ordering for both himself and James. He waits patiently, James will probably get here as soon as he can. Harry takes a seat, hoping the coffee doesn’t get too cold. Harry drums his fingers on the table, and the mug, and taps the spoon on the table, before settling on pulling at his sleeves. 

He senses someone looking at him. He looks up, expecting it to be James, the grin on his face making that painfully obvious. But when he turns his gaze to man standing behind the chair – it isn’t James. Somehow, he recognises this as the mysterious Ste.


	28. Chapter 28

“Harry.” 

Harry swallows, his palms are sweating, and he thinks he might vomit on the guys’ tracksuit. This is Ste. He can figure it out now that this was the man he was going to marry, this is the fiancée. There’s so much riding on this conversation – so many questions that need to be answered. How did they meet? What is their relationship like? Did I love you? Why did I cheat on you, multiple times? Why haven’t you been to see me? 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit?” The guy looks nervous, fidgety. A small voice at the back of Harry’s mind thinks he looks like a pathetic, scared little puppy. Harry nods, and the guy sits down. For a second, Harry fears Ste will drink James’ coffee, but he just takes one looks and one sniff at it, and clearly realises it’s the kind of blend that’s meant for men in tailored suits rather than men in crimson tracksuits. 

“Look, Harry. I know things have been tricky lately, but we really need to talk. What with my kids and everything with Amy, and Dee Dee and Rose, and now this, your affair, everything is just getting out of control. But things are getting better. I swear.” He pleads, reaching out to grab Harry’s hands. Harry guesses it’s supposed to be comforting or some way to form a connection, but it just feels like a cage around his hands. “Leah and Lucas are settled staying with Mike. Dee Dee’s getting better now, and Tony and Diane are going to raise Rose with Tegan. The storm damage is nearly cleared so we can get the Hatch back up and running. Everything is working out for us, Harry. Well, except...” 

The affair. Ste has this unique way of ploughing through whatever is in his way or pushing it aside and moving on. He seems like a chipper kind of guy. His optimism is appealing. But what happens when he can’t do anything, when he’s helpless? If things aren’t going his way, how does he cope? 

“We’ve gone done this before, Harry. We’ve come through worse scrapes and stayed together. We’re strong, we’re a good couple. We can try again.” 

Such determination, Harry never realises he was such a catch. 

“I cheated on you, how is that the kind of thing you can just get over? You should hate me.” 

Ste squeezes Hary’s hands, and he tries to pull away. He can’t. “You forgave me when I slept with Ryan. And John-Paul. And after everything with Sinead. We’ve bene homeless, and in prison and when I was hooked on meth; if we can make it through that, we can make it through this.” 

Jesus fucking Christ! What kind of shit was Harry involved in? Drugs, prostitution and so many affairs. That does not sound like a healthy relationship. They both should have cut and run years ago. 

“So, what do you say, Harry? We can make a fresh start. We don’t have to do the whole big wedding again, and we can even wait if you want, until Dee Dee is strong enough to be there. Just imagine how happy everyone will be. They need happiness more than ever right now.” 

Harry is about to crush Ste’s heart, when his eye is caught by a figure at the door – James. Looking like he rushed out of the house without looking at his reflection. But he’s looking at Harry now. Harry, with his hands in Ste’s, while the man asks him to give their relationship another go. 

Harry can’t yank him hands away fast enough to get to James before the man has already disappeared around a corner. 

“Harry, what’s going on?” 

Harry rounds on Ste, all inhibitions gone. “What’s going on? What’s going on is you are so stupid and blind to see that I am not going to come crawling back to you. I may have done it when I was seventeen, or even a month ago – but I am not the same man now that I was back then! It seems to have slipped your mind that I was hit by a fucking tree and have amnesia! I don’t know you! I’m not in love with you – in fact, I have no memories of ever loving you, or even liking you. And if you think all we need is a fresh start, well you need your brain looked at. You’ve just told me that you cheated on me twice, and I've cheated on you, that because of you I was homeless and became a prostitute! And you took meth? Do you really think anyone in their right minds would choose such a pathetic loser like you? I may have just lost my chance at having a real, loving relationship, because of you!” 

Harry doesn’t give him the chance to respond. He grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and hurries out of the coffee shop. If he’s fast, he might be able to race James to the flat.


	29. Chapter 29

James is about to be sick. The world is terrible and everyone and everything should just kill him now. Because Harry is having coffee and holding hands with Ste Hay, or all people. He thought, when he couldn’t find Harry at his mother’s or in the park, that Harry had run away completely because of him. Over dramatic, he knows. But then he got that text, asking him to meet Harry at the Bean for a talk, and his heart had started to race. Now his heart stands completely still. Did Harry just call him there to see him move back on with Ste or was it just a happy accident that saves him from having to break James’ heart face to face.  
   
Either way, James plans to do what he always does, and drink until he can’t remember his own name, let alone why he was drinking in the first place. He knows Romeo won’t like it, he’ll try and get him to talk to Harry about everything and make his feelings known. But Romeo was wrong about Harry not being stupid, so Romeo can lay off.

James makes his way home on autopilot, feeling the tingle of tears at the back of his eyes and hoping they won’t come out until he’s safely behind a locked door. 

He pushes into the flat, and is startled to his mother in the kitchen, beaming to herself and amused Romeo, with what appears to be the entire contents of a bakery scattered over the counters. He pauses and decides he can’t deal with this. 

He heads straight for his bedroom, slamming the door like a petulant teen – or his son. He changes into something suitable for lounging around in a depressed haze, firmly refusing to look at the bed. He wouldn’t be able to see the rumpled sheets and not imagine Harry peacefully sleeping in them the way he was last night. 

There’s a knock on his door, “James, darling.” It’s his mother. 

“I thought I told you you’re not welcome in this house.” 

“I’m here to apologise, I want to make things right. Now, tell me what’s wrong.” 

James ignores her, simply opening the door and going get the whisky from the kitchen. He glances at the finished cake, presumably made by Marnie if the terrible attempt at elegance and beauty are anything to go by. It looks like a child made it. The writing on top ‘sorry I kept your son form you’ is just adorably bad. 

“Dad? How’d things go with Harry?” 

James shakes his head, “He was with Ste.” 

“Oh.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing I made cake. Darling, everything will be okay, I promise. Now, go sit down and Romeo can put on a DVD for us.” She starts to cut up the cake, her graceful attempts going wrong when she realises she forgot to bring plates over. James gets them out for her. 

James stares at them curiously, “You two made up?” It seems his world really is turning upside down at the moment. 

Romeo answers, already picking out a sappy rom-com he knows his dad likes, “Yeah. Grandma’s not so bad after all.” 

“Enough of the grandma.” She thrusts a plate at James and ushers him onto the sofa. “Now, cry your heart out, darling, and we’ll be here for you.” 

James relaxes and lets the opening credits of Love Actually play, while the first of many tears slips down his cheek. 

* 

Harry sprints through the village so fast that he doesn't notice his mother before barreling straight into her. 

“Woah, Harry. What’s the rush, sweetheart?” There must be something in his expression, because she immediately stops smiling and places her hands on his shoulder, “What’s the rush?” 

“James. I remembered that we used to date, or whatever it was, but I got freaked and bolted. Then I asked to speak to him at the Bean, but then I met Ste.” 

“Oh, no.” 

“I know now that Ste was my fiancée, but I don’t get why I would still be with him. He’s a druggie, he’s cheated on me twice, at least, and he still thinks we can make it through this.”   
“So, I take it you’re not going back to Ste.” 

“Not in a million years. But James saw, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I am. He left before I could talk to him, and now I really need to see him. Because I love him, mum! I’m in love with James Nightingale. And I need him to know.” 

It’s the truest statement Harry has ever said, and his heart feels lighter. He might float away with happiness. But he needs to tell James first, he needs to say those three little words then they can get their happily ever after ending. 

“Then, what are we waiting for? Come on.” Tessa takes her son by his arm and pulls him along to James’ flat. He follows with a spring in his step.


	30. Chapter 30

Harry restrains himself from banging on James’ door, or even kicking it down completely like some hunk in a dramatic rom-com, and simply knocks politely. The curtains in the living room are drawn shut, which Harry knows is a bad sign – James is most likely suffering through heartbreak at the moment. It’s understandable, but it still annoys him – can't he just trust that he won’t go back to Ste. 

Harry’s eyes have been opened to the true nature of his relationship with Ste – full of obligation and duty more than passion and love. Though he may not remember everything that happened between the two of them, he heard enough form Ste, and feels it in his bones that they were dead on arrival. It would never have lasted, and Harry thanks every deity he knows that they never got far enough to actually get married. He should probably thank that tree, too. 

No one answers the door, and Harry can feel his mum’s annoyance beside him. To his surprise, she is the first to start banging on the door. So hard, the door knocker rattles, and Harry fears the windows may shatter. 

“James Nightingale! You open this door right now and talk to my boy! Or I swear, you will regret it!” 

Harry is mortified, “Mum” he mumbles, “You’re not making this easier. You make it sound like something really bad.” 

But it got the door to open, just with the wrong person on the other side. Marnie, looking like she could just burn them alive in the middle of the village and still not be happy. Harry can’t remember ever meeting Marnie, but he’s seen her around and knew that if James so much as got a paper cut because of Harry, he would be as dead as a doornail. 

“Hello, Mrs Nightingale. Is James in?” Harry asks politely, all the better to make a good first impression on the hopefully in-laws. 

She huffs, “Maybe. What do you want?” 

Harry peers around Marnie, catching a glimpse of James lying on the sofa under a blanket before she moves to block his view. 

“There’s been a misunderstanding and I just need five minutes to explain. Maybe... More than five minutes if you’ll let me.” 

Marnie scoffs, “Misunderstanding, my arse. Do you know what you’ve done?” 

“Marnie,” Tessa starts, “One mother to another, let him talk.” 

Harry stand son his tiptoes to look over Marnie’s shoulder, so James can see his face if he’d so much as look away from the TV. “James, please. It wasn’t what it looked like. Can you just let me explain?” 

James doesn’t move. 

Harry sighs. Then winces before declaring to the whole world, “I know we were shagging behind Ste’s back for three months. That’s why I ran, because it all hit me at once.” 

James finally looks at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

There’s a whoop from inside the flat, and Romeo emerges, looking cosy in his pyjamas. “I knew it! Told you it wasn’t anything bad. Come on, gran, let them talk.” 

Marnie turns to her son, “Well, James?” 

James hesitates, and Tessa rolls her eyes. “For God’s sake.” She pushes Harry inside the flat and pulls Marnie out. Romeo quickly grasps the situation and dashes out the door. Tessa closes it with a smart click, and Harry and James are trapped together in the flat. 

Silence falls over the pair until James silently gestures to the empty seat on the sofa beside him. Harry takes a deep, steadying breath. 

“Sleeping in your bed brought everything back. Every affectionate moment between us, all the nights spent together and the days just talking. Good and bad, it all flooded back at once. Two years' worth of flirting. It was a lot and I didn’t know how to talk to you this morning without making it awkward.” 

“So you ran.” 

“I ran. I went to see Farrah and just talked through it all. Makes sense of timelines and how it fits with all the new memories of you I have. And it changes nothing.” Harry sees the moment James’ face falls, and races to clarify. “It changes nothing because I still have a massive crush on you. I still want to kiss you when I see you or when I leave. I want to hold your hand and go on dates. I keep fantasising about being with you and that hasn’t changed. I just know that we could have had it before if I wasn’t so stupid.” 

James stares at him for a while. So long that Harry feels his heart might burst if James doesn't say something soon. 

“You want to date me?” 

“Of course, I do.” 

“Even knowing all the terrible things I've done. And you must know what I've done to you. Paying you for sex, being your pimp, I even punched you once.” 

“I know. And if you ever do any of that to me again, I will kill you. But it didn’t matter before, and it doesn't matter now. The past is the past. I wouldn't be who I am today without everything that happened. And you wouldn't be the man I love without all your flaws and baggage and history.” James is silent again, and Harry might just add it to the list of things James can’t do, alongside ‘pimp him out’ and ‘punch him’. 

“... You... love me?” 

Shit. He wasn’t meant to say that yet. God, such an idiot! Harry nods, hoping he hasn’t freaked James out yet. But the other man merely takes his hand and kisses the back of his knuckles. Harry’s blush is the most impressive so far. 

Harry slowly reaches up to cup James’ cheek. James takes hold of Harry’s shoulder and gently guides him closer. Harry closes his eyes as his lips touch James’. It’s like the millionth kiss they’ve had, but also their very first kiss all over again. Harry’s first kiss – that he remembers truly. And it is spectacular. The age old saying about fireworks and butterflies is absolutely true. He never wants to kiss anyone but James, ever. 

They reluctantly pull apart, still holding on to each other. James can’t stop staring at Harry’s face, looking like a starved man given food and water for the first time. Hary doesn't want that expression to ever fade. 

“So...?” Harry whispers. He doesn't want to ask. It feels petulant and presumptive. But James knows what he wants, he understands because he is the one person in this world who truly can. 

“I love you, too.” 


End file.
